The Bloodbath: Part II [3pm EST]

[aya]

Good afternoon and welcome to the 75th Annual Hunger Games Bloodbath (Part II), Tributes! Your Gamemakers have developed a very special Games for you. First and foremost, we would like to encourage each and every one of you to read the rules, as it makes life a lot easier for everyone when all parties involved are aware of the rules and expectations.

For smooth operation of the bloodbath, please be aware of the following:

THIS IS THE 3PM BLOODBATH. Tributes who belong in this bloodbath are:
D1F Diorite Fray [Gryphon]
D2F Cassiopeia Shaw [Ali]
D2M Asriel Dreamurr [Nyte]
D2M Ivar Hammerfell [Ems]
D2M Saummerand Demheaux [Arctic]
D3F Ave Clayton [Onyx]
D4F Brooke Destin [Tris]
D4F Chaos O'Hana [Cameo]
D4F Chloriphina Sills [Unitato]
D4F Gabrielle Bellamonte [Chaos]
D4M Curse Jinx [Jorg]
D4M Lightning O'Hana [Arrows]
D5F Eden Turner [Clover]
D5F Pollux Cree [Fuzzy]
D5M Lorenzo Ruined [Kay]
D6M Anton Ladetto [Noodles]
D6M Riordan Einfallen [Tom]
D7F Eszter Summit [Kari]
D7M Jano Karmichael [Rook]
D7M Marcus Fletcher [Yoya]
D8F Shelby Leviane [Mylee]
D9m Helios Delacroix [Rave]
D10F Ophelia Stromstatt [Rosetta]
D10F Scarlett Stroms [Zoë]
D11F Salome Izar [Zorionak]
D12M Sage Scarborough [Kaplan]

New Bloodbath rules:

1. You must wait TEN MINUTES between each of your posts. This counts for every post. This means 10 minutes between your intro and your first attack, 10 minutes between each of your attacks, and 10 minutes between your last attack and your flee post.

2. In order to verify this, you must quote your previous post at the beginning of each new post (exception, intro)

2. a. It is possible to edit the timestamp of your quoted post to make it look like you posted earlier than you did. This is considered cheating. This will not be tolerated. Anyone tribute caught doing this will sustain +20 damage and will have their attack/flee invalidated.

2. b. Please start each post (before any tables) with your tribute's name, what attack number this is, and, at the end, whatever the dice code you roll is. For example: [Arbor Halt, attack 3, 2069].

2. c. When you quote your previous post, please delete EVERYTHING besides the tribute's name, attack number, and dice code (as given above)

3. Other rules about bloodbath combat still stand:

- you must wait until at least three other people have posted before you can post again
- if you are in an alliance of four, you must wait until someone outside your alliance has posted before you can post again
- you can only be attacked six times between each of your posts
- your first post must be an intro with no attacks in it
- your first attack post must be unarmed before you can claim a weapon
- you may not attack in your fleeing post
- if you have a broken or severed leg or leg part, you may not flee without the aid of another tribute, who must also flee. Alternatively, you may flee on your own using three separate flee posts instead of one. For the 74th only, you may ally mid-Bloodbath and your new ally may help you flee. You must post in the Alliance Registration thread to make this official.
- once you flee, you may not re-enter the bloodbath
- fillers are not allowed
- all dice codes must be immediately obvious, even if you are using a table. Either put it beneath the table entirely, or make it easily accessible.
- you must specify who you're attacking
- all items - including weapons - that are picked up by a tribute can be claimed by the tribute’s killer

ANY violations of these rules will result in an additional 8 damage dealt to the offending tribute.

Each tribute's damage will be updated on on the Hunger Games Engine, so pay attention and don't forget to refresh the page!

To clarify, the Wealth also includes any unclaimed items. You must be one of the first 18 20 tributes to post in the Bloodbath in order to be eligible for the Wealth. If your alliance has 3 or 4 people, two members of your alliance must be one of the first 18 tributes to post in the bloodbath.

Today's Weather
Scattered sunshowers
Humidity: 100%
Temperature: 85F (29C)

Tribute Uniforms
Located here

Items Lists
Located here


The Bloodbath will end on the 22nd of February. Anyone who has not posted in the Bloodbath by then will be killed. The first part of Day 1 will end when the bloodbath does, and we will progress to Day 1.5 (more information to come).

five...
four...
three...
two...
one...
[GONG]

[noodles]

[Anton Ladetto, Intro]

a n t o n    l a d e t t o

When the day of the bloodbath arrives, Anton is a nervous wreck on the inside, but looks calm, cool, and collected on the outside. He knows he did not train enough for his guaranteed survival from the games, but at this point, he has slightly worse than a 2% chance of winning it all. Obviously, those aren’t the best odds that he has, but it is the only thought that is somewhat comforting. Numbers don’t lie, and from this point onward, the numbers can only increase in favor. Or the sweet embrace of death could take him, which could happen at any time during the games, but that is the more pessimistic way of thinking between the two.

As time continues to move forwards, his anxiety begins to increase. Anton knows that he isn’t necessarily the strongest individual of the 52 tributes that will be fighting to survive, but he knows that he has to be near the top percentile with his intelligence. It is too bad that being intelligent won’t mean much unless he survives the life extermination known as the bloodbath. More recently, the games haven’t had a significant amount of deaths, but due to the large amount of tributes these games, the death toll will likely be significantly larger than it would be when there are only 24 tributes. He doesn’t want to be known as “one of the District 6 males that died on the first day.” Getting no information from the Capitol to bring back to the District was disappointing, but being a winner would be beneficial because of other factors.

A hovercraft takes him to the location of the brand new arena, that will be used only once, before being turned into a tourist trap for Capitolites. Although the District lost the war to the Capitol ages ago, nowadays Capitol citizens have no skills other than lazily channel surfing, gambling with the lives of other human beings, and eating like pigs. Of the seven sins, they probably either suffer from sloth, gluttony, or a combination of both. We all know that the average Capitol citizen will do nothing, but that their technology is much more developed than any of the Districts. Due to that fear, no one is willing to take action and to fight for freedom.

The trip to the arena is too fast, and the anxiety that has been building up inside of him is beginning to release to his external features. He knows his face shows fear to everyone and he isn’t even acting anymore. The sheer fact that he could be dead within the hour is overwhelming and makes him feel sick. His uniform for the bloodbath does not calm his nerves either. First off, his pants do not cover enough and he doesn’t have an actual shirt to wear. Sadly, his stylist is no help either, forcing him to fit his feet into floral pumps that no girl would ever wear, and shoving a fake mustache onto his face. As his stylist is contemplating on what fashion torture to do next, Anton quickly grabs a red cape to tie around his waist to cover his butt, and he ties a white apron around himself as a makeshift shirt. This arena must be a mess because if his uniform has no coherent pattern, the arena will probably be in a place where gravity works the opposite of how it should or a place where extraterrestrial beings exist.

He quickly runs into the tube that he presumes is the mode of transport into the arena before any other clothing travesty can occur. As he tries to calm himself, the floor from underneath him completely vanishes and he is free-falling at 9.8 meters per second squared. Of course he isn’t technically free-falling either because he is encountering air resistance during his descent, but as he looks all around him, nothing makes any sense. He closes his eyes and for a brief moment, he questions if he had died before the games even began. That thought quickly disappears from his mind as the Capitol doesn’t kill the tributes, they want tributes to kill tributes. His falling also begins to let up, and he opens his eyes once more. Apparently, in this world, fish can save you from falling to your death, and he lands on a mansion with some of the tributes.

Strangely, the bloodbath seems relatively empty for 52 tributes, as he gives a cursory glance, there seems to be many tributes missing, and as he counts everyone, there are only 26 tributes in the arena. Did the other 26 tributes not survive their fall into the arena? Was there some malfunction that already eliminated half of the tributes? That fact doesn’t make sense. There is no way that somehow half of the tributes already died, but there isn’t any other result that is clearly the answer. Will they be dropped in on top of the bloodbath as it is occurring? That wouldn’t be fair for the tributes that are arriving later, as they wouldn’t have a weapon to use while we would. Is there another arena next to the one that we’re in that will connect to our arena after a certain amount of deaths? That does not make any sense either. Even though the Capitol has a bunch of money, and could easily do that, they want to make the games go as smoothly as possible, and that seems to be too much work.

While Anton is contemplating where half of the tributes are, the timer has nearly finished counting down. As he glances around, he notices that he is standing on top of a chimney. As he realizes that he can fall, he gets slightly lightheaded from the thought that he could fall and die if he made one wrong move. Before he can run towards the center of the arena for life-saving items, he must safely scale down from the perch that he is on, and when the gong rings, that is the first action he takes. Being slow and staying alive is a much better option that attempting to speedily get down and die.

[Anton Ladetto has entered the bloodbath]

[ulysses d11 tribsit]

LORENZO RUINED

D5M Lorenzo Ruined | BB Intro

Two days after his private training session, Lorenzo surveyed the disaster that was his tribute uniform and couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry. He was so fucking set. He’d already faced his death, stepped off his podium with two seconds left. The taste of ash and copper had lingered for hours. He wanted it back; he almost convinced himself it was the best way to go. Almost.

Course it was going to be fucking difficult to look like a badass in his uniform.

In the end he clipped the glitter novelty suspenders to the jungle animal print boxers. He strung the black satin blindfold and the commemorative district nine emblazoned bow tie around his neck. A struggle ensued when he tried to clasp the Bros token bracelet but eventually he beat it into submission on his left wrist. He sucked on one of the butterscotch candies from the mauve sweater, even as he tossed it over the suspenders. Finally, he stuffed the grim reaper shawl into the sixty-ninth arena map tote bag and left the rest for someone else to pick over.

In the pod to the arena, Lorenzo wiggled his bare toes. “No furry shoe kinks?” He asked of no one in particular. And then the base of the pod began to rotate open.

“Fuck me.”

A whoosh of air and the stale brine of the salty air snatched any further words. Lorenzo fell, convinced completely that this was his punishment for taking his own life in vain; he couldn’t jump off this podium when it had already done it for him. Down, down, down, water ripped from his eyes like tears. At some point the blindfold smacked into his forehead, just above his eyes. He tugged it down; he didn’t need to this – no one did.

And that’s when something round and slimy slammed into his chest. It didn’t feel like the ground. He risked a peek.

Regret contorted his face into a grimace. “You here to –”

The anglerfish rammed Lorenzo again, right in the solar plexus. He wheezed and took a swipe at the hideous sea creature. It snapped at him, with rows and rows of long yellow teeth. “Fine, you just float there, all happy and shit while I –”

His jaw remained open for a second, doing a not half bad impression of the fish. Lorenzo scrambled, trying to right himself in the air. He got one hand around a ragged fin and with the other he latched onto the anglerfish’s tail. It guided them expertly all the way down. He realized he wasn’t the only one falling – or the only one being assisted by a beastie. What the actual fuck.

Without any warning, the anglerfish flicked its tail and nibbled at his wrist. Lorenzo fell the last few feet to land on his chimney stack, breathing hard and wondering if he should have tried to eat the ugly thing.

[Lorenzo Ruined enters the 75th Bloodbath]

[florentine, d4b ❁]

Eden Turner // Intro

[presto]

EDEN TURNER i've got no soul, just a black hole right in the middle of my chest - i'm not like the other kids . . . i'm falling apart or falling back together, i can't really be sure. (this isn't what was supposed to happen, this isn't the smooth mechanical ascent ma described.) is this insanity? i didn't expect it to come for me quite so soon.  at some point i remember to open my eyes; i have become a terrible tangle of mismatched clothing and flailing limbs. dress gloves and butterfly hair clips, pink boots, a fur coat. i am a child who has raided their mother's closet for everything that sparkles and shines.  when my stylist presented me with my 58th arena map emblazoned bag, i wondered if the alcohol that burned my throat last night had intoxicated my very soul. my mind spent a frantic moment attempting to decode the meaning behind it - a token of belief, the physical reminded that my mother navigated a world like this seventeen years ago? or is it a threat? or perhaps,  just plain, dumb irony. (we all make the same mistakes.)  this isn't how it is supposed to go -  this isn't how we die. i know this because there is no fun in watching fifty-two children slam unexpectedly  into the concrete, i know this because we are participants in a spectator sport with viewers who must be satisfied.  this thought rewards me with the bravery to look around myself, attempt to steady my flailing limbs. i am underwater - (have i been holding my breath?) - it is the washing machine on spin cycle; claustrophobic and dizzying.  it is the waves, the undercurrent, a tsunami, a whirlpool. somehow, despite this, it is also the sky; the upside down, the right way up,  until i'm really not sure if i am eden turner anymore at all, because i am not sure of anything.  they told me the ocean tastes of salt, but the only salt i can taste is my own tears (windburn in my eyes.) i look a little further - past the hundreds of mysterious creatures, the stuff of school lessons and textbooks - to see the other children falling from the sky, a torrential downpour of desperate idiots.  the only place i do not look is down (or at least, the direction i believe to be down, for it is the way in which i am falling.)  a swarm of something comes toward me, and i twist away, remembering the vicious muttations that have taken many a tribute life. then, i scold myself, because cammalia was my best friend growing up and i cannot believe that already the arena has created an eden who's first thoughts paint the world as a wicked place. i reach out for the swarm and they spread out around me, welcoming me into their folds, consuming me. they look like ocean butterflies, swimming through the sky with translucent wings, and they do not bite. rather, slowly, they fan out across the arms of my fur coat, taking my weight gradually, so gradually i don't notice the line between falling and flying.  the feeling of them across my shoulders presses where i can still feel ma's hands holding me -  "you have to survive, eden." my feet touch solid ground for the first time in what feels like years - what feels like my entire life, in fact, as though since my conception i've been eagerly awaiting this -  my own moment in which i can prove that i deserve the crown passed on to me (a rightful meritocracy rather than a monarchial progression.) "you have to come home." "but ma," i whisper to the plate beneath my feet, "i am home." you ran away from home when you were only young but everybody wants to be someone

[/presto]

[eden turner enters the bloodbath]

[Onyx]

Ave Clayton - Intro

I'll hum the song the soldiers sing as they march outside our window

They search me in the holding room.

There - in front of my stylist, my mentor, the whole entourage who had graciously allowed me to indulge in the fantasy that I was somehow different, somehow better, somehow worth saving from the fate I have found myself the passive victim of - they grip my wrists with leather-gloved hands and tug open the fastening of my bathrobe, dragging their fingers across my exposed skin and under the edge of my corset and leaving red welts that bloom as quickly as the flush in my cheeks does. My stylist looks on with a face like fog, bleak, indistinct, the colour of ash. It's as if he, like the Peacekeepers, can't hear my screams of desperate protest at all.

It's at that moment I realise I'm going to die, and also understand how naive I've been so far. My criminal stunt with the Gamemakers, my unextraordinary training session, the friends I've failed to make, (the allies who probably don't know me well enough to put themselves in front of the axe for me), they all seemed like small punishments, but things I could get past to keep pushing to my goal. This- this humiliation, this physical and emotional pain, I realised this is the real consequence of my recklessness. This is their way of telling me I'm nothing, and I should have just behaved like nothing from the very beginning.

A hand roughly pushes my chin up and two fingers pull down my lower lip to force my mouth open. I feel the tender skin there tear, and the sour taste of my own blood begins to line my mouth. With obedience driven into me by the fear of further injury, or embarrassment, I lift up my tongue and show I'm not trying to smuggle anything, mechanical insect, vial of poison or, indeed, antidote, into the arena with me. My hands are shaking more than they ever have before.

Perhaps, at least, I can see the positive side of this ordeal. I'm no longer afraid of what could happen to me when I get on the other side of this arena entrance - there's no way it could be worse than what I'm going through here.

I'm cleared, finally, but I feel more guilty now than before the Peacekeepers started maliciously running their hands and eyes over me. It's all I can do to stagger onto the podium as if in a trance. My stylist makes eye contact with me but I look right through him. When the little plate starts to rise (and rise and rise... higher and for longer than I've read past victors describing it?) I can't feel the force of it at all, I'm already weightless, already nothing - no more than air or empty space.

I endure the countdown as if asleep.

And when I start falling, tumbling through the air with twenty other flailing bodies plummeting around me, it seems like the most natural thing in the world.

[Deleted]

helios delacries | intro



H E L I O S --

Oh okay- we're starting. 

I try to keep my body still, restless blood flow in the form of shaking hands; see, I've always been one shy of violence. No matter the sins my sisters carry, I've always been this gentle soul, and I pray I stay stagnant like this until death. I'm afraid that I'm in over my head. My stylist holds a weak gaze with me though their words fall flat, I don't register much of what they say. Don't register much besides the clothes on my skin and the shaking of my interior up. 

I'm going to die wearing a thong. 

It's a realizing thing, very slowly piecing together the bits that have been hanging around my head for these weeks. The pink fur tickling my cheeks and ears, layers of clothes that I can't make sense of how to get out -- I'm not expecting to live long enough to need to. High strung and pretty at the least, I just expected a more comforting death and I'm already let down to say the least. 

This death will be rough. The taste of iron in the back of my mouth, my head pounding and- lord. Oh lord, oh dear I'm going to die today, oh. It's such a wild concept, fossilizing and documenting my last few hours (minutes-? will I even live long enough to fall?) to the point of already considering my mind and my body two separates, Ripred's hands already fixated around the first. From birth to fur coats, I killed myself successfully.

At least I accomplished something, huh Percy?

I hang my head. Trying to envision how I'll die in the next hour, losing myself in this feeling of finite -- it's a saturnine thing. Knowing a place in heaven is beckoning my name before the day is over, my last day. I hope Scarlett kills me herself, I do not wish to go out a champion. Just a body count. I spent too little time ignoring the other tributes, so now I die friendless, huh? This is how I go? Everything I've ever been wasting away in one last elevator ride, I can't swallow th-

We're falling- flying? Oh dear, oh shit

excuse my language.

I try to hold my head to my body, the moments blurring together in spirals and seconds, bodies falling- up? Down, something, this is very confusing, my hands pulling at my shoes, people start catching, I try not to panic but that's never been my strong suit. I'm already dying, they didn't wait long for me h- oh. My face slams into the side of something gray; something wide and rubbery and I only have time to catch my skipping heart, no time for bearings.

It roars at me, I'm so very confused.

My hand grips around the walrus, it yawns and I don't really, know, how to comprehend this. We continue on a linear path, the others around me look just as confused and I try to be still- I assume jumping isn't an option. I keep my face buried into its neck, gripping as tight as I can and trying to choke down panicked tears; I don't want to die crying but it's so hard not to. Every sense around me is fragile, sensitive, I hold my breath. 

(I don't think I want to die-)

A loose step, bare feet against dormer chimney, I'm so confused but I'm trying my best not to process. Let my death go easy, a single breath and waiting for the word of Ripred- if I don't understand maybe dying will go faster, I don't know. I don't know anything and I'm realizing this even faster than I want, weak posture, I slip from the walrus weakly, half of me expecting to fall instead. This makes no sense and I try to make even less of it; my hand limp against the walrus's neck and a weak smile. 

At least I got one last nice thing. I watch it swim- fly? Float, I don't now, I hold myself terribly. Lurching and my body acidic, this is no place for me. Ripred have mercy, I grip my hand around the base of my neck trying not to vomit, how quickly will this pass? How quickly will I pass- I want to say I don't have time to question but ultimately I have nothing but. 

I have an entire eternity after this- right, Percy? 

Only hope that when I lose myself within me that the lord can forgive me. 

[ enters bloodbath ]

[heather - d2 [mylee]]

[shelby leviane; introduction]

Oh, how the bones of my back are now snapping
Under the weight of a burden still rapping,
Striking rhythm against my frail spine
On each off beat and rest
Or the worst moments at best
Never bothering to continue the last line.

Sobriety is a bitch.

Head spinning since the moment I had awoken this morning, I had instinctively reached for the glass I had compromised as company for the last week and counting and been severely disappointed to find my hand grasping at empty space.

I have determined that there is not a problem in this world a drink cannot fix.

But death is a problem that can only be defied for so long, and as I press a hand to my temple I realize my time is quickly waning short.

Place of myth discovered or not, discussions to be had between a sister dead and a sister dying, one last drink that would not touch parched lips— none of these lend tones of reassurance as I am guided to my platform.

I had not seen my sister in these paralleled moments, but I imagine she was not phased by anything that advertised itself as physical threat. More dangerous still was that monster in her mind, that beast that reared its ugly head each morning when the moon dared to fall in place of the sun.

Beauty must be in the eye of the beholder, for I always thought the sunrise was striking in its simplest sense.

But simple is often synonymous with deadly, for overthinking is the cause of death in the most complex mind. If a mind in motion slows to a complete stop for a stationary second, it loses every last bit of momentum it has once retained and begins to plummet at a much more rapid pace.

And so I am falling at the pause of thought, my feet giving way from underneath me and my knees locking out of instinct. I have never broken a single bone in my short eighteen years spent, but I remember nights numerous in the past several months where the feeling of body and mind became just distinct enough to separate.

I do not suppose I am opposed to letting go of either of the two.

But before I can lose that last part of me that I so despise, I am being guided to safety by flesh much softer than my own, a feeling of comfort that eclipses anything shown to me by mother, father, or sister.

It is for such reason foreign and frightening as my fingers scramble to grasp anything that gives space to do so.

It seems seconds are spun into strands of minutes as my feet find stability on the perch of a ledge that gives no allowance for width when it comes to any space more than two feet’s worth.

I imagine for just a second longer that I am Cha Leviane. Lost until placed on the brink of death and suddenly found with nothing left to spare.

And suddenly those seconds turn to eighteen years and I am still looking for something that will never be seen with two eyes and a mind that still functions.

I know that what I have been missing will always be just beyond my grasp until I have lost the sense to think of it to begin with.

Breath lost to the sense of helplessness that overtakes my body, I lay a hand across my chest to make sure the heart there is still beating in the wake of realization that threatens to stop it. I count the beats that fall in the silences between the breaths—

one

two

three

Four is falling and I do not make it to five before I lose my sense of sanity and scream. I do not dare disturb fear as it rushes to the tips of my fingers, instead letting it take residence as I shut my eyes and wait for the moment of contact I watched my sister make with the ground below.

But I miss the moment of opportunity, and instead I find myself scrambling on tired joints and aching mind. Her death must have been swifter than this; quicker than this; a life lost to ease and not the struggle that comes with silver blade burning white hot yet blood red.

If Cha Leviane was not afraid of the physical threats that lay claim to the same path as her own, it follows that to trace her footsteps I should do the same, but still fear has grasped my tongue and I have no means by which to expel it.

Lesser version of the martyr I must be, for as I strike forward I do not see her bravery anywhere in the horizon— only the last pieces of her that were lost to begin with.

table by elegant

[Shelby Leviane enters the Bloodbath Prime]

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

[Eszter Summit | Intro]

E S Z T E R

A cold sweat runs down my face and onto my neck, waking me. I’m not sure if I’ve had a dream or a nightmare, but whatever it was, it was filled with death.


And now I’m not sure if I am excited or scared.


I force myself out of my bed and into the main living area. This is day I’ve been waiting for, the one where I will finally maybe not be miserable. The one where all my unhappiness is supposed to end. But now I am not sure that I am ready.



They take me away to some place, but I am too lost in my own mind to notice where I am going. It’s not like it matters anyway.


I know I will not be returning.


I’m shoved into a room as my stylist works around me quickly, trying to make me presentable for the cameras, trying to make me presentable to die.


I am finally able to get a look at myself in the mirror, and I almost throw something at my stylist’s head. It looks like he gathered my clothes with the lights off, not caring one bit what the audience would think when they see me. I’m in a short dress that barely covers my thighs with a ridiculous pattern on it. A sparkly corset is keeping my ribs in place and a strange jacket is casually thrown over the top. A tight necklace threatens to crush my vocal cords and a black ribbon is tied around my waist. I look at my arm and I never remember getting a tattoo, but I don’t question it. I turn to him quickly.


”How the hell am I supposed to run in this?”



He doesn’t say a word, but instead just shrugs and ushers me towards my metal plate. I step on gingerly and look at him one last time.

”Well it was nice knowing you,”


I pause for a brief second.

”Not,”


And I expect the tube to incase me and lift me up to my imminent death. But it does not, instead it drops out from under me, and I’m falling, falling, falling-


At least I’ll die quickly.


But then suddenly I am being helped by seals in the sky, and I’ve never been more confused in my life. I just decide not to question it though.


They place me on a roof and I have to count twice just to be sure. There’s not nearly as many tributes as there should be. Did they kill the others? If they did why the fuck would they pick me to live.


I am nothing.


The voice starts counting down and I can’t help but take down the intricate hairstyle that my stylist tried to do. I pull the ribbon off my waist and quickly tie my hair up with it. Who needs to look good when you’re going to die anyway.


The gong sounds.


And I am finally ready to move on.





[eszter summit enters the bloodbath]

table by  fox

[✨ zozo.]

scarlett stroms | intro

Fear isn't a friend but it still pays a visit when the world tips on its head and Scarlett Stroms is flung, falling, all at once, into the sky of fish.

Wait wha-?

Screaming, the world gives way to a sky of blue and purple and bricks and children, an acid trip gone wrong. Stuff of nightmares - she'd know, she is one, although this place is not dark and retched like her insides. It is bright, wild, twisted, bubblegum-pop and psychedelic. No footholds, no handles for her flailing limbs to catch on to, no security, no control. Just Scarlett and the sky and the endless falling upwards.

She's going to vomit-

From up to down she falls and a crowd of whizzing brown blurs whisk her up, up, up, nipping with blunt teeth at her limbs. Shaking, she shoos them away with yelps and kicks but they seem to crowd around her like a cloud - little scaled fins tickle her pale skin and carry her away.

This is a bad dream, a joke, no place for heathens to rip into skin and puncture muscle, organs, blood vessels. Fear isn't a friend to Scarlett Stroms but she's deathly afraid of the unpredictable, even more so of failure, so fear grins from inside of her chest.

In shock. The piranhas snap and snitch at invisible enemies and aquatic life bursts forth from the hidden sea, carrying children down to their deaths. A promise to herself: she'll paint the ocean red and children will drown in their own blood, her knife in their lungs, her hands wrapped around their throats. Dark thoughts settle into a calm lull in her bones as she's lowered down to a chimney top, fanged fish scattering as her feet touch the brick and her robe billows softly around her waist. 

She blinks - to the sky, to her side, dead set ahead of her.

It's all wrong.

And then she laughs.

Manic, it bubbles from the pit of her stomach still falling, flung, falling. Lazarus is nowhere to be seen and she laughs some more, eyes darting to and fro as the countdown begins. A bad dream. A nightmare. Trapped in the depths of her mangled mind, and all she can do is laugh.

She'll wake to screams - but not her own.

[scar enters]

[Arrows]

Lightning O'Hana / Intro

District Four Male of the 75th Hunger Games

     The tides swell and the waves reap havoc upon my fragile constitution of strength. From the safety of my spaced speculation nothing but immeasurable illumination ignites within my irises. But now before the brink of the brutal beast I am trapped within the shackles of my summoned sarcophagus. Deepening are the depths of my doubts once held at bay by sheer will. Once lightly loitering a top the sea I have chosen to surf with a single sentence, I am now drawn into its darkness. The world which once I lived is lost into the fog of the future. All that supplies even segments of sanctuary are the meek mists of the moon beaming through the slits of my windows. My sister sleeps steps away in another room, yet alone I choose to crumble. 

    I've trained for tomorrow, trained for tonight, but still the sweet seduction of sleep does not secure me. Idly I wander through my warped waiting, wondering whether eternity will enlighten me shortly. I dare to dream whether the steel slice of a sword will silence me or whether the wicked wrath of a whip will rip me apart. It is so easy to allow myself to linger within the luxuries of possible survival, but to believe that such luxuries are already mine can only be hushed by these horrors. I halt in the hall and let myself slide down the wall and into the countless endings endlessly enhancing my mind.

    Canon counters cannon and I can no longer comprehend who they belong to. I can no longer feel whether its my own flesh being flung across the field. I'm numb, curled against a crevice in the hall as my own thoughts torture me. I rise to my feet, I'm weightless. I don't even need to walk while I soon return to the support of my silken sheets. Darkness draws over my state of absolute emptiness, I do not dream, I do nothing at all.

    Sunbeams all too shortly sting my skin, stirring me from my numbness. Little lifts within my chest ensure my heart still beats, but I no longer feel alive. Inside an inferno has eradicated all emotions indifferent to doing what it takes to survive. I have no need to tremble into tears or succumb to screams. In a matter of hours such actions will simply hold no sense. What I need to do today is all I can see while I watch myself being pulled towards the elevator. Kill or be killed, there is no sweets to sugar coat it. If Chaos and I are going to survivor the storm we have to throw away any parts of a person we have left. Starting the second the elevator doors open we have to commit to becoming serial killers. 

    Sunlight stains my soul as our eyes meet beneath the wings of a hovercraft before us. My words lay waste to her whispers of I love you. “You volunteered to see one of us win. Don’t fuck it up right off the bat.” Then she's gone, I'm gone, neither of exist any longer. One drive demands us, a single surge still remains without our souls. Survive by all means necessary. 

    Despite any terrible temptations still circulating within my mind, Leon Krigel is not in sight for my final send off. Instead alone I sit suffocating inside white walls. No clocks, no cracks, not a thing. All there is myself, a bench, and a tube of the world's strongest glass. I'm a statue, like stone I sit and stare into it, lose myself into it. A voice shatters my solitude. In nothing but a fishnet suit I stand surrounded by the shadows. My eyes calmly close.

    It's gone. I fall from the absence of the floor beneath me. Sky surrounds me as though the sea I have swam in for centuries. The animals are the same shape and size yet clouds still cradle us. I can't speak nor scream, I just fall fixating on how the impossible is now endangering me. I feel a scale beneath me as I cling to some kind of sky fish. Its school welcomes my embrace until with the gentlest gesture plants me upon the pristine heights of a roof. 

    I watch, everyone watches, waits. I don't look for Chaos since I know she is standing somewhere within the same shadows. I don't search for things to survive longer with. I just stare, I just wait. And when the gong finally greets my ears like thunder...

I strike like lightning. 

LIGHTNING  O'HANA

has entered the bloodbath

[Rosetta]

~Ophelia Stromstatt [ENTRANCE]
Ophelia's legs stuck out lamely, too skinny, as her stylist dressed her in the ridiculous outfit designated by the GMs. She flapped her wings half-heartedly as the woman began to helpfully tie her hair back, in an attempt to make this outfit more manageable. "Just be careful with those," her stylist told her, nodding at the shoes. Unable to answer, Ophelia nodded. 
The room she was tasked to prepare in felt more like a cell. Gone were the days of luxury and grandeur. Ophelia was reminded of the pigs that the butchers fattened for slaughter. 
She picked at a meal of eggs and toast, peeling the crusts off of the toast and setting them aside. Mace might have reached across the table just then and picked them up. Giving her a disapprovingly look, he'd split the crusts amongst the younger children, earning their praise. He knew how to fill the hollowness in their stomachs.
But could he keep her alive?
No, Ophelia thought bitterly, because he was too busy fucking that other Victor, the young one, the red-haired one. No one could save her now. She had sealed her fate. 
How will they remember me?
Too soon, it's time to shut herself into another tomb, a more permanent one. The circle in the middle of the room has opened up, welcoming Ophelia in. She didn't say a word except a brief "thanks" to her stylist before her skinny legs led her towards the circle. She stepped in and it closed and instantly she is plunged into darkness. 
In the dark, she imagined herself being born again. First an ugly bald head, mole and all, then small, soft body, coated in blood, and then kicking legs, brought into the light. She imagined herself reborn, as in her mind's eye, the darkness faded away. Not a tribute, not a skeleton, but a Victor. 
And like that, the darkness melted away. For a long moment, Ophelia just blinked in the sudden light. She wasn't sure if she was seeing right. She wasn't standing...anywhere, really. No, she was...floating. Falling down, but not fast, not painfully. Drifting. Something had latched onto her arm and when she looked around, she saw, to her surprise, a seahorse, a whole school of them, sucking at her arms, leading her down. Aside her, other faces floated past, but she couldn't register any of them. Like a kiss, she landed on something flat. A chimney. The seahorses faded away.
She turned her head back and forth. The cornucopia was far different from what she imagined. 
10.
The countdown was like a heartbeat. It sped up with each number.
9.
You’re a Victor, not a tribute.
8.
Do you remember Mace’s advice?
7.
Do this for the kids.
6.
What did he say about finding water?
5.
They’ll be glued to the television screen, grimy fingers making it grainer than it already is.
4.
And what about weapons? Doesn’t she need weapons?
3.
What did Mace say again?
2.
Mace?
1
Fuck Mace.
She took off running.

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

[Ivar Hammerfell | Intro]

Blue eyes glared through the window bouncing from building to building taking it all in for what could easily be the last time. Today was the day Ivar trained for, the day he volunteered for, and yet his insides twisted together. An angel of death stood before him guiding him across the fence he perched himself on. If he fell too far to the left, the angel would snatch him away. While on the right stood a guardian angel keeping him alive. Slowly it became a constant tug of war, but Ivar knew he could walk the lonely line until the end of the games. A prize awaited him, and the boy would claim the ultimate glory. That was his goal, and as simple as it felt, more rested heavily on it. This game was different. So many more tribute. So many more fighting for their survival when only one would come out on top of it all.

A sigh laced with excitement left his chest as he lowered himself from the bed landing ungracefully on the ground. Now wasn't the time for any broken bones - Ivar was already such an easy target, and part of him hoped it would work to his advantage. Why kill someone they could easily kill later?

Throughout his stay, the floor became his best friend, and now he was saying goodbye. Soon a new friend would replace the void forming inside as he dragged himself through the arena. It was beyond his wildest imagination what awaited him the moment he found himself thrown into a living hell created by the gamemakers. Cricket won her games, and Ivar wondered if that was what drew her to becoming a gamemaker, but why do that? Maybe one day the crippled teen would follow in her footsteps. It was another goal, another plan formulating in the back of his mind. But was it possible to go all the way as hope drifted?

The palms of his hands burned as he made his way through the facility showing off a big toothy grin. The lights were dim, and Ivar could only imagine many were sleeping at this time of day because soon parties and festivals would start in honor of those who volunteered. More deaths, and it meant more excitement, more betting, more prizes, more everything, yet Ivar pushed it all aside. He had a lot to prove despite the weight of the world pressing heavily against his shoulders. Thankfully he didn't have far to fall until he smashed into the bottom of the endless void. In just a few hours even his instinct would become a predator attacking a prey in a kill or be killed scenario. It was how the games worked, and while some thought it was cruel punishment, Ivar didn't sympathize with anyone. Fifty-two volunteered, and he was one of them. Fifty-two knew what they were getting themselves into.

Fifty one would die.

Numb legs dangled loosely bouncing around throughout the ride on the hovercraft. Keeping his eyes closed, Ivar locked all emotions away. All anyone saw was a blank face etched into hollow cheeks of a pale face. A gnawing sensation tour through his stomach leaving the boy gasping for air while trying to hold onto the contents sloshing around inside. Yet he couldn't stop the acidic substance from crawling up the back of his throat and into his mouth, but he kept it in. Motion sickness before fighting for the death wasn't something Ivar had planned on facing, however, the odds were slowly slipping away.

Exiting the ride was nearly impossible, yet his hands hit the ground, tiny rocks dug into his palms, but it was nothing new. Peacekeepers stood around, and Ivar only guessed they were keeping watching in attempts to keep any of the tributes from running away. But why would a volunteer run away from this? Didn't they want to feel the pain? Experience the honor? Fight for the glory? For Ivar the answer was a simple yes to every single question. For so long his brother tried to belittle him, tried to tell him he wouldn't amount to anything, and this was the only way to prove he could compete. His score wasn't the best, but he took it with arms wide open realizing for a kid without legs it was nearly perfect. It gave him something proving he wasn't weak, but he wasn't a force to reckon with.

But as he arrived at the final holding place, Ivar realized many things were wrong. A stylist handed him a bunch of clothes, and the boy looked through them dropping the unwanted items to the side until his eyes locked on something he had never saw before - "What is this?" He shouted through gritted teeth, eyes shifting from the gold chainmail bikini bottoms to the stylist hovering above him. "And this?" Holding out a jewel encrusted bra, the boy felt robbed of his dignity. Everything was slowly being taken away, and now he was left with nothing but the embrace the one outfit he was born into. A birthday suit was perfect, but he doubted his family would approve.

"I'm not wearing any of this."

His jaw clenched tightly, and his eyes became wide as he tried making out everything that he was given. The only thing he loved the most was the shades. They made him look cool, and he quickly covered his face up with them. Nobody would see him, nobody would notice the fire glowing brightly in his eyes as he glared at the stylist waiting for help. For an answer.

Holding up the sweater and the jacket, a lightbulb clicked inside his head. Both would cover his manhood while the others were thrown away. None of them were needed.

But soon he was ready. Covered from head to toe in the terrible outfit the gamemakers gave him. Ivar would have his way with them the moment he stepped foot out of the games. They needed taught a lesson on how to prepare an outfit because this was nothing more than a terrible attempt at making people into a seductive mess. With a shake of his head, he threw everything into his bag tossing it over his shoulders. It was better than being nude, yet Ivar knew Sigurd would have a laugh.

Crossing his legs, he sat on the metal plate waiting for it to rise as the timer ticked away. Only it didn't rise -

Violent screams erupt past his lips bellowing into the air around him as he fell. Blue eyes met the blue sky, yet the sea animals only looked at him. What is this place? Each breath caught in the back of his throat as he tried holding himself together. Nothing made sense as he soared through the sky watching the fins of fish swim around him. A giant blue whale floated aimlessly without any worry in the world. Sharks bared their teeth. Opening his mouth, Ivar anticipated drawing in water as he tried to catch his breath, but his lungs were safe. Something was wrong, and he wasn't sure what. Perhaps this was their sick way of killing those who willingly entered the games. Just drop them from the sky and laugh as they fall to their deaths.

Shaky hands latched onto the fin of a manatee hoping it would save him from certain death, but even that didn't seem perfect. It slowed the fall allowing him to wrap his arms around his legs holding them close as he crossed them. Surely it would keep him alive longer if this was to see who would survive the fall. Yet he couldn't figure out the purpose when the games were sitting on the line. Nobody wanted an anticlimactic ending to the hunger games.

One breath after another, he closed his eyes, clenched his mouth shut trying to prevent the screams from echoing through the sea. Once it was over, the manatee placed him gently on the perch of a chimney setting on top of the roof. Frantically he looked around realizing he was still alive, still breathing, but the fight would soon begin. All it took was a deep breath and the realization of the predators attacking the prey.

Seconds ticked away, and as the gong sound he uncrossed his legs, turned over onto his belly and started crawling towards victory.

{enters the bloodbath}[/font]

[Deleted]

Curse Jinx

[newclass=.jorggradient1]text-align:justify; background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #030102, #474946, #8C8D85, #C88C4E, #50050A);linear-gradient(top, #030102, #474946, #8C8D85, #C88C4E, #50050A); -webkit-background-clip:text; color:transparent;[/newclass] [attr="class","jorggradient1"] Who can sleep when they know that they will soon never see that actual world again? Who can sleep knowing that they will mostly likely die within the next week? I sit on the window sill, staring into the streets of the Capitol. Watching them celebrate for our death, it is almost disgusting how much they enjoy this. One of the Squares that is across the street is celebrating and cheering on as they watch our interviews in full, They enjoy that have over double the tributes to fall in love for. Only thing is I think that they don’t see us as people, but rather as something that isn’t quite on the same level as them. Maybe it would help is they say us as just humans in a television show, but as Citizens of the government forced to kill each other for something we didn’t do.

I end up falling asleep to the chanting of ”Hunger Games” over and over, and it penetrates deep into my dreams. I dreamt that we were fighting in ancient ruins of an old urban city, that end up being submerged in leagues of water. Many of us end up drowning but can still somehow manage to fight. I don't fully understand it all but somehow it worked out? I don’t even know at this point as I am not so politely woken by our escort. I hear the girls grumbling next door, and we are groaning as the sun isn’t even up yet. No one ever said that dealing with an army was easy. He grumbled something about not even needing clothes, but it was unclear. I am still trying to get out of the underwater Arena as I roll out of bed and take a shower. I don’t know when my last one will be, so take a bit longer than usual in there. I manage to get freshened up and manage to put on a white cotton tank top and a pair of baggy shorts before we all started to get ushered out of the door. Apparently I took too long to get ready and now I have to leave. Sorry for wanting to smell fresh before I lose access to basic amenities.

There are no wise words of wisdom, or deep emotional words of farewell when I arrive at the hovercraft pad. Just simple head nods as he goes back down to collect the others and I walk into the hovercraft. There are a few other faces in there with me, but none that I recognize. Once there are twelve tributes boarded, we take off. There are people in white lab coats with syringes walk down the aisle as they inject us with them. I give them a quizzical look as they reach me and one of them explains that it is my tracker, for the Gamemakers to keep an eye on us. Apparently every tribute gets one in every Games, I guess they look at every camera any single given time.

Even though the ride is decently long, I still have yet to process the fact that I am about to enter the Arena. I am about to enter the fight of my life, yet here I am, sitting like this isn’t happening, like I’ll just be back in the Training Center rooms in a few. Yet I won’t, and I may never see life outside of the Arena again. Even as we land are ushered one by one off of the hovercraft. It is my turn, and we enter what appears to be a circular concrete hallway. Pipes seem to snake around the entirety of the complex and I cannot see the midway point of the circle as I continue to walk down with my Peacekeeper escort. We finally stop at an identical door, one out of the many that I have passed, and the Peacekeeper opens it curtly for me. I slip on in and he closes it, his footsteps fading away. I turn to see one of the many stylists that has worked with our Army throughout the week. Beside them is a rack of, very peculiar clothing.

I see robes and dresses and boots and coats, and many other items that probably doesn't constitute as clothing, but I don’t see any pants, or even shorts for that matter. And all of them are very, colorful. I feel as if my eyes are being assaulted as I stand there with my mouth agape. My stylist just chuckles at me and says something along the lines of “Welcome to the Capitol.” He starts by simply taking off what little, modest clothing I have and throws a bunch of strings at me and tells me to put it on. I look at him almost disgusted because,

“HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO WEAR STRINGS?!”

My stylist just continues to laugh at me while telling me to lay it out first so I do just that. I notice that it forms the shape of my body, with two long extensions towards the top for my arms. With that in mind i put it on, It barely covers my decency in the front and does nothing to try and cover the back. I then get handed a tiny pair of silk shorts. Well at least I’ll covered up I think as I put those on. Again they barely cover anything. I’m starting to think that maybe this was also Crickets idea. I highly doubt that the older lady would have anything this skimpy in her wardrobe.

My stylist keeps handing me gaudy clothes, such as a black jewel encrusted top, and a jeweled bolo tie, so I just put them on while he tinkers with them. My outfit finally comes together as I slip in a pair of pink glittery thigh high stilettos and a black fur coat that is bigger than I am, which is saying something. They decide to put a pink hat on top of my head that has some odd feathers sticking out of it. Feathers that I have never seen before that are very interestingly colored. I just give them a look and they laugh, saying that it is the most, unique, uniform design that they’ve ever seen. An automated voice tells us that launch is in 2 minutes, that gives me time to walk around and get used to the new heels. I don’t know how are why people decide to wear this, though they do give my ass a nice lift, so I guess I can’t complain too much. The one minute warning comes and I decide to get into the tube. It’s really now or never, as I walk in my stylist hands me a clutch of what appears to be reptile skin. They also whisper that they filled it with buckles from some of the other clothing.on the rack. It’s now my turn to laugh as the tube closes up, and I start my rise.

On;y the plate gives out under me and I start to fall. This is definitely not a normal entrance as most other Games has the tributes rise, not fall into the freaking sky. I notice that we are all falling, and that there are sea creatures flying beside us, flying. I can say with confidence that stingrays aren’t supposed to be in the air, or freaking whales for that matter. Yet there they are acting like this is just an average day for them.

“Oh hey it’s raining kids again,”
“Oh really, that’s good to know, I guess I should have brought my umbrella.”

I don’t know if that’s what they’re thinking but at this point they may very well be. I manage to twist myself to see my surrounds below, noticing giant landscapes surrounding a mansion. Somehow the mansion is standing over a giant schism in the ground, as a roses surround it. This seems to be it, appearing almost as simple as the 66th Arena. I notice that I continue to fall as the mansion get closer and closer, until I land not so softly onto a stingray. A few more stingray surround me as they act a parachute almost, slowing me down as they guide me closer to the roof. One thing that I notice is that there are no actual items, or even a cornucopia for that matter. I just see crayons, crayons all over. Do they expect us to literally beat each other to death? The stingrays drop me off at a chimney stack and sly away as soon as I step onto it. My gaze follows them up to sky as the countdown starts to roll on. I notice that everything seems to be coming out of a painting, as if we are not even out in nature, but in the bowels of the Capitol.

I look at the other tributes, only to notice that there is only about 25 of us. Where are the other tributes? I look around trying to find my alliance, I notice Ivar with about 10 seconds left but I cannot find Zanita anywhere. The gong rings and we all charge in, my first instinct is to run towards Ivar, but something isn’t right.

Where is Zanita?

[Curse Jinx Enters the Bloodbath]

[Marcus Fletcher D7M (Tribsit)]

[Marcus Fletcher; Intro]

Actions
Thoughts
"Speech"
"Other Speech"
Other

The bloodiest day has fallen upon us. It was time were most people die in the games. For the most part. Stupid 72nd games. I felt as though that if I prove myself today that no one else would mess with me. If I could kill loads of tributes, my name would be spread amongst the others, preferably in fear. To be honest, if I don’t die, that would work as well.

After going through my usual daily morning tasks, like using up all the hot water, and then even more hot water, I find myself with more time than I anticipated. Dammit. Now I’m gonna have to wait. How much time do I have left? Did they ever say when I had to be there? Or were they gonna escort me there? Fuck. Which one is it? I can’t really ask anybody right now, can I? Well, I could, but what would they say? Nothing. Because I’m not gonna ask. Shit. Do I wait it out? Shit. Didn’t they also set out a uniform for us?

I quickly take off all my clothes and look for what they told me to wear. Fucking hell. Why? This. Isn’t. Men’s. Clothing. Why do the Gamemakers hate us? I don’t even know how to walk in heels. Fuck you Gamemakers. At least this bloody bag is somewhat manly. I guess. It pains me to put everything on, but it gets on. My escort walks in as soon as I finish. I give him a forced fake smile as he greets me. Fuck you and your stupid Capitol designs. I should just go nude. I feel like an idiot. At least I have a bowtie. Bowties are cool.

I follow my escort out of the room and wherever I had to be taken. I just prayed that it wasn’t too far. How the hell do girls walk in these? It’s near damn impossible to not trip. Why did I get these clothes anyways? Are they stupid? Don’t they know I’m a guy? Maybe I’m not the only one, though. I do my best to stay on my own two feet for as long as I could.

A million years have passed before we get to the place with a shit ton of tubes. What are these things? Are they gonna take us to the arena? Fun. Great time to find out if I have claustrophobia. I wonder where Seth is? I try to catch a glimpse of him before I have to take a step into the container. Hmm… maybe he’s somewhere where I can’t see him. That’s probably it. And there goes the door. I hear a whoosh and a lock after I enter the tube. Now more waiting. Wonderful.

Instead of earlier today, where I had loads of stress, anticipation fills me up. This iS going to be-- "HOLYFUCKINGSHITWHATTHEFUCK." The ground disappears below me as I plummet to the ground. I’m not going to die. I can’t die yet. Can I? "WHAT THE HELL?" The larges shark I have ever seen comes out of nowhere and I land on it. It has to be at least 25 feet, because I can’t see anything past it. This is freaky as hell. It better not kill me.

Looking around, I notice I’m not the only one on a weird sea creature. At least I’m not alone. Wait. These are SEA creatures. Who live UNDERWATER. Shouldn’t I be dead? My normal breathing tells me otherwise. Fuck this shit. I’m done. I hate everything. The Gamemakers are insane.

When we get to the tribute plates, the gigantic shark places the end of its fin on a chimney Am I… am I supposed to walk over there? I look around, noticing how high I am off the ground. I may not be afraid of close spaces, but I know am afraid of heights. Perfect. I try my best to get my shaky legs to stand up. What makes it even more fun is having to get my leg over the hump in order to walk to the chimney.

Another million years pass until I safely get to my destination. I spot loads of over tributes around me on similar chimneys once I believe in my footing. This doesn’t seem like everybody… Where’s Seth? No matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find him. I did find a timer, though. I don’t have him, but at least I know how much time I have left. But 60 what?

59...

Seconds. I have 60 seconds.

50…

What’s up with the crayons?

40…

Why does everything look so weird?

30…

What’d they do to Seth?

20…

Didn’t I make an alliance with two other people?

10…

Oh, yeah. There’s Sage.

9…

What about the other one?

8…

Not here.

7…

Who cares?

6…

One is better than none.

5…

So close.

4…

I’m ready to kill.

3…

Them fuckers are going to die

2…

This is the final masquerade.

1…

"LET’S FUCKING DO THIS!"

I spring off my chimney and am ready to add carnage as soon as the gong goes off.

Marcus Fletcher joins the Bloodbath

[ali]

Cassiopeia Shaw | Intro

There was a moment as she stood on the stage, beaming and waving to the hundreds of adoring fans of the Capitol who filled the hall to the brim, a wash in glittering flashes of photographs and beneath the sunshine of a spot lamp, Cassiopeia realized something. It hit her all at once, as if the boat she had been riding on the river which cut through gully’s of dark, ancient rock, had capsized and she’d been flung into the icy depths, leaving her cold and reaching for the surface of reality. The water was suffocating her, threatening to fill her lungs but Cassiopeia knew better than to scream.

The blonde almost froze, mid wave, beaming smile flickering for a second as if she were a broken doll, but before she could fall apart she bowed to the audience. She took Caeser’s hand in hers grinning so wide that her face began to hurt in protest to her false happiness. “Thank you” she said, her words painted with happiness to hide the fear that tinged it’s edges. She blew the crowd a lie a kiss from her cherry painted lips before she turned and ducked back behind the curtain; once out of sight, she ran.

She shoved her Escort out the way, elbowing past them as they hurried to see whether she was alright. Clawing at the surface, she could barely reach beyond the surface of the water, the river rushing and pushing her deeper with eddying currents that sucked at her body and dragged her down, down, the light above her fading fast, as if day was becoming night, the last rays of sun clung to her in hope. Jamming her finger against hail button of the elevator, Cassiopeia stepped into the elevator, her whole body trembling with each shallow breath she inhaled. Pampered nails dug into her scalp as she chewed at her lip.

It felt as if the world was folding in around her. Her heartbeat was pounding inside her chest and she could barely hear anything above that, the world echoed through the window of water which drowned her. Placing a hand to her neck, fingers brushing against the delicate skin, she remembered how it felt not being able to breath when bruises were forming at her fathers finger tips; the bruises had long since faded into obscurity, mainly forgotten how their colours had painted her pale skin on her neck but the ghosts still scared her mind, they would not allow themselves to be forgotten.

Stepping out onto the rooftop terrace was a blessing, the kiss of the midnight breeze was something of a release from the watery grave she found herself in. Fingertips could barely reach the surface, the waves upon waves that twisted and turned her kept her under still. She need to breath, her whole body felt like it was about to cave in on itself, a cliff giving way to years and years of beating waves, hardship after hardship, storm after storm. The blonde felt tears sting her eyes as her chest burned with the urge to gasp for the air she felt she couldn’t reach; fingers brushing against the torrenting surface of a river cutting it’s disastrous path to the sea.

The girl moved to the edge of the rooftop, knuckles white, clenched into fists so tightly that those beautiful manicured nails were speckled with red that shouldn’t be there. The pain was numbing compared to the fire in her chest, warm compared to where her hands has gripped at the railing at the edge of the roof to stare over into the abyss of colour that swirled on the streets below; the wind danced around her as eyes, sapphire blue, drowned in tears.

Then, as if someone had hauled her from the depths of the river, where the sunlight had become a distant memory, she gasped for air at it's surface then let put a scream. She threw her head back and screamed into the night, her howl lost on the cold winter wind as tears streamed down her face, dragging the make-up her stylist had meticulously applied.

Like a wounded animal she fell to her knees, defeated by the demons of her past she usually kept hidden but tonight, she had realised that the moment she was waiting for was out of reach, finger tips brushing against the river bank in fruitless attempts to ground herself; everything she had been taught was utter bullshit. People did not go into the games broken and come out alive.

She could not let them see the cracks in her exterior, the faults in her foundation.

-

Cassia brushed the memory of the night before away, abandoning it before the world she knew abandoned her. There was little use clinging onto simple things, there would be no time to reminisce about such things in the arena. It was extra weight she could not bear, already broken, she knew she could not sit idly if she were to win the games. She would have to forget what it was to be Cassiopeia Shaw from District 2 and see herself as someone entirely knew beneath her shell.

It was not difficult given the outfit she had been assigned. Cassiopeia had not been one for color, girly things but she could not help but grin in the mirror at herself; despite the pinstripe trousers that her stylist had tapered and hemmed to become more pinstriped Capri’s and top hat, the rest of her outfit exuded femininity. Scarlet red heels, polka dot Ascot tied neatly around her neck did all but hide the plunging neckline of her lace corset which synched at her waist, even the two bow ties she wore in two identical braids were screaming woman, even with her artistic fake moustache and mirrored glasses.

Turning away from the mirror, the girl glanced around the empty room. Sometimes, she was told, escorts and stylists would come see you off but Cassia was thankful for this moment of loneliness. It allowed her to clear her thoughts, steady breaths as she slowly paced the room, occasionally glancing at the platform that would rise her into the arena; each glance she spared it, she could feel her whole body prickle with nerves and antici-

-pation.

Glancing to the clock, a female voice, robotic and staticy yet oddly calming announcing that there was only 60 seconds until the games began. Fingers twitched absently at her sides, expecting to feel the comfort of a weapon she did not yet posses. The blonde instead found herself teetering of the edge of the unknown. Knowing that she should be ready to accept anything, the blonde took a deep, needed breath- waves of the river crashing over her head, threatening to suck her down again- as she stepped onto the podium at the 50 second mark.

With a sigh, the glass tube closed around her. And she waited, eyes trained on the ceiling above as she waited for her to begin to rise. And she waited. A frown presses neatly along the girls brow as she waits for whatever she should feel before the deckplate rises; a shudder, a rumble, a sudden unexpected jolt but there is only a moment where she could only hear the hum of her excited heartbeat before it very almost stopped as the deckplate beneath her feet gave way and she suddenly finds herself doing the unexpected, falling.

The world slipped away from her and before she realised what was happening, she was falling, tumbling like a fledgling with broken wings. Her whole body lurched upwards as if her soul was trying to not plummet through blue sky, hands reaching upwards too late to grab the rimless glass, heart skipping a beat as she plunges beyond the reality she knew. Flailing, Cassiopeia waves her arms franticly, flailing as she tumbles and tumbles, a distant dot growing closer and closer.

It is then she screams, long and hard as she fills her lungs with oxygen, eyes watering as air, ice to the touch rushes past her as if it were trying to keep her afloat. The world is plummeting towards her as her cape flaps around her, braids dancing behind her like two blonde limbs that have lost all sense of control. Cassiopeia searches the sky for something to grab onto but instead she finds herself in an ocean of falling children and sea creatures; she blinked, thinking the fish are an illusion, a hallucination that one saw on the brink of death but they were still there when she blinked twice for good measure.

The shoals of fish and blobbing jellyfish were real enough, floating elegantly in the pastel blue sky as they would the ocean. Sea horses, manatee, stingrays, swam above, below, left, right all around her and on closer inspection, squinting through the blue shimmer of her sun glasses, Cassia watched as they desperately swam after children. At first, the blonde thought they were attacking the other tributes but she watched fishes grabbing at another kid in their fishy ways to prevent them from going splat on the arena floor.

Then suddenly, a swarm of deep navy blue and bright yellow swarmed towards her. A family- a large one at that- of Blue Tangs scurried towards her through the sky, flapping their fins as if they were wings in order to reach her. Then they were beneath her, swimming against the tide of gravity as it pulled her towards the ground. Their tiny pouted lips ticked at her as some nibbled at the back of her neck, pulling at her braids and swimming backwards to aid their brothers and sisters. Cassie watched as the ground slowed before her until she felt as if she were not falling at all and as occasionally one little blue tang would swim away before hurrying back to its family.

She exhaled softly as the world slowed and she finally could step down onto solid ground again. One foot outstretched, she set foot on a chimney, wiggly a made of bright coloured bricks, as the Blue Tang's lowered her down carefully, as if she were a prize they had found, before the shoal hurried off back into the sky. The blonde watched them vanish into the ocean above their heads before she turned her attention back to the oddly tilted cornucopia. It looked as if it shouldn't exist, but also looked like it should.

With 20 seconds to go, Cassiopeia began to count her opponents but stopped when she realized she had reached 12 and had reached a little over halfway. She paused and counted again, half way round she stopped when she reached 12. “What the hell?!” She announced, scanning the 24 other tributes or so who stood around the peculiar cornucopia. If she had felt uncertainty, not knowing which way or where the path of the river would lead her, before, she certainly felt it now.

Hands, falling to her side, clenched into fists as the countdown reached 10.

She inhaled….9

Closed her eyes just as her father told her to do…..8

Exhaling she could feel ghosts of the past linger in her mind as she cleared it of all thoughts…..7

Opening her eyes, her fists tightened….6

Nails digging into her skin of her palms as her gaze became fixated on the countdown….5

She unclenched her fists, crouching down…..4

Spots of blood pin pricked at the surface of her skin where her nails had dug against her palm…..3

Cassia told herself, as she prepared to run, that she was determined and would win….2

Or damn well die trying….1

The gong sounded and Cassiopeia sprang forward.

[Cassiopeia Shaw enters the bloodbath]