The Bloodbath

Cameo {RIP Charlie}
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The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:04:28 GMT -5

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Post by Cameo {RIP Charlie} on Jun 23, 2018 9:04:28 GMT -5

{Ollie Brooke/Intro}

Another day. Another way. Another cage. A hygienic, pure environment coaxes her new, brief imprisonment. With no doubt it was recently crafted, untainted by former Tributes’ touches before they were raised to their certain demise - unlike the Capitol’s cage that was thickly coated by the pasts’ scents. A mark by the tiny Blonde was left in the the city behind, while there was no point in leaving one here. Solely tourist might view her stamp of existence here, if any at all. Though still her mind couldn’t help but wander to Bella’s experience in this exact moment a year past.

Had tears trailed down Bella’s cheeks in realization of what she’s been forced to leave behind? Unlike the numbness that’s currently enveloping her younger foster sister. Perhaps confidence coiled through the pack leader, a determination to return back to them? An assurance in self that the Blonde couldn’t absorb, even if she were capable of swallowing what was occurring. Or maybe she could relate to Ollie, in a blankness of realizing what was about to happen. There would be no asking Bella on how she reacted herself. And though Ollie couldn’t think of anything else, she wasn’t concentrating on what thing they surely did have in common - where they were both headed, whether now or then.

An entertaining ornament stands out amongst the plainness of the room, snapping Ollie from her vivid contemplation, her new attire. A golden puppy in adorable animation style presents as her onesie clothing for the next however long days. It’s a pajama she would have pleaded to have, would have been gifted with if money wasn’t an issue. And even now it slithers a grin across of her lips. There’s no doubt of the tainted soil soon to spread across the innocent outfit, while still she neglects the truth of the future. To her it’s at least a ray of shine amongst a darkened sky.

The golden hue matches her golden locks, and it’s fabric forms across her as if made especially for her - most likely because it was. And as if time was made for her as well, the sixty second warning ignites a moment after her attire suits her petite exterior. Realization sparks with the alarm, as her heart startles into a race of what’s to come.

An understanding collapses upon her every sense. Eyes enlarge in a plead to not be placed into this involuntary event. She had not wishes to be called at this year’s reaping. She had not enjoyed being shipped from her family. She did not desire any of this. But just as she had braved the rest, she faces this without a single protest. Her cage shrinks even further amongst her tunnel to the upcoming destruction, and her shoulders cower in her silent defense.

Darkness radiates before the light of true darkness emerges. A fairytale greets the naive, while the nightmare welcomes the rest. The youngest rattles somewhere in the middle - calmed by the magical aroma, and yet still quivering from the reality of it all. A new countdown begins. A countdown Ollie had hoped to solely endure upon a screen. A countdown that echoes for the start of a dangerous race. A countdown that breaches closer to the start of the end. A countdown that concludes now.

{Ollie Brooke Enters the Bloodbath}

So Many Different Personalities

eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris
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The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:04:29 GMT -5

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Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Jun 23, 2018 9:04:29 GMT -5

( faline varley, d6f ; introduction )

I am flesh, bones
I am skin, soul
I am human
Nothing more than human

The morning passes by in a blur
— but I can see now. I understand.

There’s no time to eat, rushing through breakfast as if it might not be my final meal. As if I’m not actually sick of those sweetened rolls. I'm not even allowed to see my allies, I can’t speak to Mackenzie and say goodbye to him; as if the Capitol thinks we’re infinite. As if we’re not living on borrowed hours, minutes, seconds. Fourteen years. And I don’t want them to have been a waste, staring at myself in the mirror as my stylist dresses me in silence — and I can’t appreciate the outfit, being able to see my natural face again after so many days of blush, the sleek plait that falls across my shoulder. Ghosts aren’t pretty. The living are ugly on the inside. I’m screwed on all fronts.

Hopeful, hopeless — nobody, somebody. A stone and a river and a flame and distant smoke. I’m finding comfort in all the shards that have built me. No matter how sharp they are. Because I’m not broken, just messy. Still figuring things out. And maybe I’m not perfect, but I keep improving. Each new moment, I’m wiser than I used to be. Always stronger. Better. More in love with myself, more forgiving, less afraid of failing. Of becoming my mother, of following her footsteps into deep waters, of drowning -- of going hungry, of being so selfish and so bitter; hating that I wasn’t more. That I wasn’t enough. I’m learning, and I’m living, and it’s so dangerous to be a girl. To be young.

To know that I might have missed my chance to find every piece of myself. That maybe it’s impossible to be whole, completely, or to ever be my best self. I’m trying to be okay with that. I’m trying to find a reason to let go of my fears, to be content. With Faline. With me. With fourteen years and maybe nothing more than that. I blink, jarred momentarily — my stomach lurches, like I’m back on the hovercraft. Like I can’t see any familiar faces, like I’m afraid and alone and so fucking nervous. Death exhales against my throat, but I’m standing. I’m still alive. Glass closes around me. My stylist doesn’t meet my gaze. I’m on solid ground, but I’m not. A voice sounds, my pedestal rising.

I can’t run from this. How can I? There’s no escape. It’s all bombs and metal and an enclosed space. Even when I finish my ascent, even when a soft breeze hits my skin, I’m still trapped. This is a world within a world. This is Hell within Hell. And this isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning. Fire catches, but soon all I see are trees and sky and I feel so much warmth. Wind threatens to carry me away, but I stay in place and shield my eyes from the sudden brightness. It hits me, how much I’ve missed the sun. My neck almost arches back, my limbs almost spreading out and a smile almost washing across my features — but only almost. This isn’t my sun. Home is nowhere to be found. It’s not just up ahead and through the forest, it’s not even beyond the sea. It’s not here.

That’s fine. That’s another reason to fight. I refuse to die here; where everything is fake and forced and false. And once it might have been a dream, perhaps this is the universe where I’m happy and fulfilled and I matter, but it’s not mine. I want to go back. Where I struggle, where I doubt myself, where I’m real and raw and just a kid. Not a soldier. Not a corpse. The timer starts, my neck cranes in search of my friends, but I’m too panicked to focus. All I can think about are the numbers, the essential supplies that gleam in the light. I close my eyes, I breathe through my nose, and I clear my thoughts. Just this once, I let go of all my anxieties — the pressures of a shattering girlhood. There are far worse terrors to be feared.

“Let the Seventy-Ninth
Annual Hunger Games begin!”

I am sweat, flaws
I am veins, scars
I am human
Nothing more than human

song: Human

( faline varley enters the BB )

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

charlotte fel d11 [Tribsit]
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The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:04:39 GMT -5

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Post by charlotte fel d11 [Tribsit] on Jun 23, 2018 9:04:39 GMT -5

Charlie Surber | Intro | no dice

Charlie Bones
District Ten Male

Dancing on the crumbling precipice
The rocks are coming loose just at the edge

Third Person, Says, Thinks

They try to shake us up as best as they can, forcing us to wake up early and be dragged out of bed onto a roof. From there the transport in a hovercraft with blacked out windows as if they're trying to make us motion sick. I sit there the entire time brooding in my own darkness. The early morning didn't throw me off much as I was used to it from living around farmers and horse breeders. The animals didn't wait; I guess the Capitol didn't either.

I tried to summon the feeling of being a horse in a stall, waiting for my handler to come and ready me for the race I could smell in the air and feel in my bones, but instead I was a cow on the way to the slaughter house. I had served my usefulness in life and so was heading to feed the hungry public with my flesh.

My attempted illusion came more into focus as I was once more dragged away from my latest position of relative comfort and safety. I was becoming more of the antsy thoroughbred by the second with nervous energy coursing through me and making my movements jittery. I felt as though there were a hundred flies crawling over my flesh and I almost ached for a tail to swat at them.

My stylist dressed me in the uniform selected by the game makers but I paid it little mind. It was all I could do to keep from shifting and stamping, especially knowing that this would probably further her view that I was insane - or at least weird. Now that I was here I felt less like the cattle I had originally sympathized with and more like the racehorse that I had wanted to be. I could just run my mile once the games had started and no one could catch me. If they did, I would fight with tooth and hoof to escape.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts of the never ending metaphors I was experiencing as almost reality. I always did this when I was shying away from something, be it my step-father or now the impossibly real fact of the being in the games. To save myself I would bury my mind into the thought of horses because I felt they were always such strong creatures. While they could be broken and trained, they still held the power to refuse anything they were told to do - a power I lacked utterly.

Florenza sends me off with a pat on the shoulder and a gesture to the tube that will carry me to the surface of the arena. I don't so much as look her in the eyes before stepping in. I do look at her just once, in the last seconds before she disappears as I am lifted into darkness. Funny, she looks almost sad.

The sudden light blinds me for a few seconds. As my eyes adjust I strain with my ears to hear whatever I could. I swear I hear someone yelling but I can't tell who or what they're saying. Already I feel like I can't trust my senses. When my vision clears I take in the grassy plain all around me. At the center, as always, sits the giant cornucopia containing everything we could ever want. My eyes wander the pile, trying to guess what I might be able to snag as I made my mad dash out of here. If I could actually grab some things I would do a lot better than simply fleeing with no supplies. Sure I might avoid a fight, but if I were to simply die soon after from dehydration or even being attacked while I was without a weapon it wouldn't do me any good.

The timer had started sooner than I expected and only now did the countdown reach me, already a quarter of the way through. Forty-some seconds doesn't sound like much, but it feels like an eternity when perched on the edge of a precipice, which is more or less where I was. I was no strategist, so I didn't waste my time trying to plan any more than I had. I just needed to grab a couple things and leave, that was all. Well, and try not to die - perhaps a taller order than it might seem.

I shuffled on my platform, shifting my stance so I would be best able to make a dash the second the countdown ceased. Champing at the bit, I lowered my head and prepared to gallop as fast as my legs would carry me. I might not cross the finish line, but I wouldn't be the last one out of the gate.

[Charlie enters the Bloodbath]

Sleepy Fluttershy
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«Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm». (Winston Churchill)

The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:04:47 GMT -5

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Post by Sleepy Fluttershy on Jun 23, 2018 9:04:47 GMT -5

[Florence Spark | intro]

[presto]

[/presto]

Finally, after all those days, it is going to begin. After realising that, Florence feels like she’s going to throw up, but quickly shakes off the fear. The sooner it all starts, the sooner she will find out how and where it ends. It is no big deal, the only thing she has to do is grab something as quickly as possible and run before some mean guys notice her. Florence smiles. It is just like the good old times when she was queen in her street and had to take the other kingdom’s flag from the enemy back yard. Now a weapon is in place of a flag, everything else will be the same. She will maybe have to push someone aside or hit them a little but it is no big deal because it won’t do much damage to that person (how much harm can one skinny fourteen year old do to anyone?). The child looks around to see where her allies are but it is hard to see them among all those other people. It does not matter at the moment. She must grab something and get out. That is the task she called mission firebird.

Three seconds until it begins…

Two…

One.

[Florence Spark enters the Bloodbath]

(graphics by Kaplan)

☆GABRIELLE☆

d11mfelixlacroixts
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The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:05:08 GMT -5

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Post by d11mfelixlacroixts on Jun 23, 2018 9:05:08 GMT -5

[Felix Lacroix, Intro]
The eventual day of the bloodbath has finally come to fruition. Honestly, as morbid as it might sound, he is ready to potentially die. There are individuals that care much more about winning than he does. Whether it is for their friends, family, themselves, the fame, the fortune. At first glance, he looks like a person with no effort or will to continue with life. That is definitely not the case. However, the amount of effort and motivation within him is at a record low. People might believe that the fear of death would be a significant motivator, but as far as he’s concerned, all it takes to murder is a lucky blow.
Of the countless days that he had in the Capitol, he did not do much training. Honestly, he did not do much at all. After the day that he was reaped, he does not remember much because of how each day was eerily similar to the next. A pattern of waking up, eating food, training, eating more food, and going to sleep. He would go into the training center, do what was required, and proceed to leave. He didn’t talk to anyone. In his defense, being an awkward and introverted person is a definite factor of how he made no allies during the time in the Capitol. Next, attempting to bond with individuals in a situation where they would eventually all be forced to turn on one another does not seem beneficial to him. Perhaps he is slightly paranoid after what his ‘friends’ back at home cut him off from their life for no apparent reason. Trusting individuals that he has only met for an ‘x’ amount of days appears foolish. Of course, they have their short-term benefits and there are definitely people that will believe that he is an ignorant, idiotic, imbecile for not making friendships when he can, but he will stand by his choice. If it happens that he bonds with someone in the murderous arena, he will take it with a grain of salt.
Almost out of nowhere, a hovercraft materializes in front of him. Logically, the hovercraft definitely did not randomly appear out of nowhere, but his attention span is nonexistent at the moment. Once he enters the hovercraft, he begins to examine the interior of the vehicle. A part of him is wondering what would happen if it somehow malfunctions and crashes. The scenario would never occur, but he is curious. While he appears enthralled by the flying mechanism to his fellow tributes, he is also observing them. Although he did not spend much time in the training center actually training, he did learn which individuals to not pick a fight with. By attacking someone in a large alliance of four, he is asking for all four of them to savagely attack his person.
Once the hovercraft lands, he quickly puts on the clothing arranged in front of him. As he is putting the clothes on, another strange thought emerges in his unusual mind. Do stylists design and create clothes for tributes to be advertised on television for Capitolites to buy? He can envision the terrible commercials about how the clothes are resistant to tears, fireproof, and how you can get bloodstains out of them. Blanking out, his stylist basically needs to push him into the tube that has descended from the ceiling to transport him into the arena. If he can throw out his lack of attention before entering the arena, it will improve his chances of survival because he will actually be able to avoid weapons that are coming down on his head, about to crush his skull.
As the tube begins to rise, he allows himself to appreciate the location where he will live for the next few minutes minimum before shifting his gaze to the cornucopia. Statistically speaking, if he leaves the bloodbath with nothing, he will definitely survive longer than several minutes, but leaving with nothing will lead to him dying within the day from other factors, such as tributes who actually gained items through fighting. He eventually decides to fight for items. More specifically, he will only fight for however long it takes him to find a weapon. However, if he starts getting severely wounded, he will escape with no items, but keep his life.
[Felix has entered the bloodbath]

kristian ognyanov d9m(tribsit)
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The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:05:09 GMT -5

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Post by kristian ognyanov d9m(tribsit) on Jun 23, 2018 9:05:09 GMT -5

[kristian ognyanov, intro]

Knock.
Thump.

The light tap at my door was followed by the sound of my body hitting the floor. Not the greatest sensation of emotions to filter my body given the day, but there was no effort in my bones or in organs that said to get up. A will was useless. A note that I had to remember I had to deal with killing. It didn’t matter what you wanted to do. All you really had to do was survive. With regret and a building anxiety in my chest I got up to face the oncoming demon’s call.
It felt like there was a corset wrapped around my waist and a python choking my chest. Breathing was almost the equivalent of hope. It felt unreal. It was a mystery. Fantasy. Every exhale was like a miracle of sorts that had been only brought by the largest of magics.

Breakfast was a disaster. It was worse than any attempt of a normal breakfast at home. A few scraps here and there, it was impossible for me to try and eat any more. My stomach felt like it was going to explode anyways. Nothing much went into the routine for today. Wake up (despite having gotten 1 hour of sleep), eat, sulk your way over to the arena and then live it out. There was no predicting what I was going to do once I stepped foot into that tiny little glass tube.

A half hour passed. In that half hour, we got transported out of our abodes and to the aircraft that would bring us to the sight. We got to the lower area and they escorted us to our rooms. Sheep to the slaughter, it was the only way to describe the action. I felt my cheeks flushing and my heart racing. A heightened fear of what was to come. Where was I going? Hell? Heaven? Was it some tripped up version of each of our homes? Whatever it was; I don’t think I’ll like it.

The light clank of my shoes as it tapped the circle invaded my ears and caused a shiver down my spine. Any sounds from now on was a sound that caused fear. I would never be able to wring out them. If my friends died by dogs; I could never imagine having one. If I got blasted by sirens I wouldn’t be able to handle them. A single light clang that resembles a simple cannon shot would be the PTSD of my Hunger Games experience.

The tube closed moments after I stepped in and it started to raise. The hum of the gears pushing me closer to my death, light quickly blinding me for a few moments as we all came to our senses of… whatever this place is. There was this whimsical feeling that filtered the air, it made even the darkest of hearts seem a little bit brighter to the world. Everyone gathered their senses of the graveyard we’ve been slapped down in.

60.
Petunia and Gabriel spotted. At least I know where they are. The better question is where are we? I give a glance around at the thought, still confused by the location.

30.

I looked at the cornucopia to try and gather a plan. There was no way I’d run away without something. A knife. A fucking blow-gun. Something.

10.

How did that clock get down so fast?

GONG

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
what in tarnation am i doing???

I run towards verified war.

[ kristian enters the bb ]

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The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:05:12 GMT -5

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Post by petuniasitter on Jun 23, 2018 9:05:12 GMT -5

[Petunia Hudson d9f | Intro | ####]

[googlefont=raleway]

It was 1 o' clock in the morning, and Petunia couldn't sleep.

It's not that she was particularly uncomfortable-- her pillows had been thoroughly fluffed by a straw-headed avox mere minutes before, and the lavender-scented sheets were still warm from the dryer-- but nothing really seemed to help with the ever-growing pain in her chest. The ache was dull, like a scraped knee, and it spread from heart to lungs at a speed comparable to light. Breathe in, she'd remind herself when it got better. Breathe out, she'd remind herself when it got worse.

At times, Petunia would find herself curled up in a ball, an ode to Ripred bubbling from her rose-kissed lips in the hopes that he would take the hardships right off of her trembling shoulders. Her soprano voice would begin softly, like the drone of a storm crouched in wait on the horizon, before rising in volume to meet the cries of thunder-crack whole. To the tune of agony, faith was trapped in a dance with fate. But this was her comfort. Her tried and true.

The hours to come would lull her into a dreamless sleep.

-

As morning peeks in through cracked blinds, Petunia is roused from her slumber by the same hands that put her there last night. Warm palms, soft fingers, gentle touch... she tries not to see her momma in the girl as she's herded off of the bed and over to her stylist. But not even Nile can dress up her face the moment that ache returns; some things just aren't meant to be hidden.

Still, they're able to fasten up her look as best as possible, any hint of sadness once-noticeable now muffled by layers of blush and powder. It feels fake, and Petunia loathes the way this appearance makes her skin crawl, but it provides a sense of dissociation she didn't know that she needed. She really hopes that her momma sees this and thinks the same.

When the peacekeepers come to take her away, Petunia tilts her chin up and walks out with a borrowed confidence. It's not a long walk-- the training center is nowhere near her final destination, after all-- but by the time she makes it to the hovercraft, she feels like she's run a marathon. There's sweat on her brow, breath baited from adrenaline... Petunia knows she's not alone.

More than a dozen faces greet her at the door, each a ghost from the training center. Soon these faces will be fighting her... soon these faces will be projected onto the night sky... soon these faces will be flying back home... and Petunia knows that it's best to think of them as objects, but they're too human to be ignored. Even the ones who were ready to be here, who volunteered to be here, seem scared in their own way, and she knows she feels the same.

As the final pairs shuffle on board, Petunia tries to catch sight of those feelings in their faces. In many ways, she sees the shift in expression from off-board to on-board, and it makes that ache return in ways she never thought it would. This time, though, the throb is comforting; a little piece of "before" to take on to the "after".

-

When the craft lands, it does so gently, then with a presence. At the opening of the gate, the children are shuffled off in the reverse order of how they were shuffled on, and they're led their separate ways by a hoard of peacekeepers essentially identical to the last. By the time Petunia reaches her compartment, she is fighting back tears; Nile does little except watch, but dabs at her face with a powder that makes the streaks disappear as a sort of pseudo-comfort. The facade musn't crack, she thinks. She wonders if he's thinking the same, but decides it doesn't matter.

A few minutes pass before Petunia is ushered over to a tube in the corner, where a voice tells her exactly how much time she has left before the ceilings turn into walls and the walls turn into what she can only hope is fresh air. Nile gives her a nod, but she averts her eyes instead of returning the gesture. Her momma is probably at home watching this right now... sobbing... holding onto all of the family's hands as if this right here marks the end in definite. She wonders if her momma misses her.

She knows she does.

The floor rises.

60

She thinks of the bathroom stalls from grade school, and how she'd lock herself in the corner to keep the bullies from finding her out.

50

She thinks of planting her first set of petunias in the garden, of how they bloomed weeks before her daddy said they would just because of the love she gave them.

40

She thinks of the family memorial out in the shed and the dust that has collected on it from years of neglect.

30

She thinks about how that could be her within days.

20

She thinks of all the people she met during her stay at the training center, how some greeted her with kindness regardless of their situation.

10

She thinks of how others greeted her with hate regardless of their humanity.

9

She thinks about how 23 of them won't be as lucky as Stella Blakesly from the 78th.

8

Or Teddy Ursa from the 76th

7

Or Colgate O'Leary from the 66th.

6

She thinks about the end, about how pretty the arena seems when it comes into sight.

5

She thinks about the way her feet feel on the platform, ready to rush off into the unknown.

4

She thinks about what it means for it to be the end anyways.

3

And she thinks about what it means to be Petunia Hudson.

2

To be the district 9 female

1

To be herself.

0

Petunia Hudson really isn't sure what she thinks anymore, but when the gong sounds, she knows what she has to do.

[Petunia Hudson Enters the Bloodbath]

L△LIA
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The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:07:49 GMT -5

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Post by L△LIA on Jun 23, 2018 9:07:49 GMT -5

[Zion Lyons, Intro]

Last night's terror was also today's. Twenty-three children descended upon Zion, until he couldn't remember if it was light or dark, if the ground was soft or hard, if he was burning with fever or shivering naked. The world beyond himself didn't matter when the only thing he could see or feel was the smallness of his own body as he was swarmed and kissed, over and over, everywhere and against his will. Their lips touched his skin and when they pulled away, they took that same skin with them. He became a patchwork of raw flesh, hysterical as he caught sight of himself tucked into the corners of their lips, teeth pink as they smiled down upon him. Skinned alive.

Waking up screaming was nothing new, except for the newfound skepticism that he might still be sleeping, trapped within an extensive nightmare. There were sighs as he was found in a dead end hallway that his memory couldn't place, his escort no longer sympathetic to this morning ritual. Obvious relief crossed the man's face as he brought Zion to his stylist for the last time, rushing a final goodbye and escaping the Lyons boy so clearly touched with madness. Perhaps it was the innocence of the face masking his inner terrors that was too much, too deceptive to waste sympathy on.

This is only emphasized when he is given his uniform for the arena. It's comfortable and he can't complain, but it does feel just a bit... silly to be wearing a candy pink bunny onesie to go fight to the death. The footie pajamas come complete with ears that flop with every tilt of his head and a fluffy cottontail on his backside. "I mean, it's cute? It's very cute," he murmurs shyly in response to the stylist asking him what he thinks, "and I like that." There's a hint of excitement hidden so well in his voice that it's missed completely by the people around him.

"We could always butch it up. Maybe a smokey eye or a black lip —"

"No! I," Zion twiddles his thumbs awkwardly and scrunches his nose up in contemplation, searching for the right words, so much that the assistant applying pink velvet to the tip of his nose has to swat him on the arm in order to get him to hold still. "I want to be cute. Please. Make me look as cute and pretty as you can. I want to look so cute that even..." His pink velvet bunny nose scrunches up as he tries to hold back tears without pawing at his eyes. "Even when I'm bloody and dead my mom will still be able to bear looking at me on the television and my youngest sister won't feel like she needs to hide her eyes. Can you make me look like that?"

"Oh, honey, I can make you look like anything. Makeup is magic!"

He knows this already, but it's a kind of relief to have it told to him again now. The memory of his skin being peeled all away continues to hang in his mind and he doesn't want his family to see him like that. It will be better to be wrapped in baby pink fur, his cheeks dusted with glitter and fairy dust when he's murdered. One way or another, terrors have their ways of finding him and he knows he will not be safe.

Thank you Elegant for the template <3

( C H A R A C T E R S )

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The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:09:43 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 23, 2018 9:09:43 GMT -5

cassia oretio d12f | intro |

They're gonna burn me at the stake
But I got a fire in my veins
I wasn't made to fall in line
No, I wasn't made to fall in line

I wonder if anybody else can smell the same smell I can smell.

It’s shit.

I’m familiar with the scent. Not because I don’t know how to wash or because I associate myself with people that don’t – I’ve just been through some shit. I’ve found myself at the bottom thinking that all was lost and honestly, I’m better for the experiences that time in my life gave me. Shit hardens you up, forces you to grow a thicker skin and be confrontational, be honest and own your individuality. It’s so much better than having to put up with snide remarks or backhanded comments which offer nothing to the world or my journey as a person.

Stronger; ha, that’s me. I gotta be stronger, I mean, I am stronger and if there’s anyone in these games that know how to rise from the bottom and come up through the dirt – it has to be me. Twelve isn’t a place where dreams come true and houses are built and laced with fairytales and dreams. It’s dangerous back home, not to mention it becomes a struggle to feed five and keep yourself alive at the same time. Part of me welcomes this shit because I feel like I already know how to cope with it. If I’ve been through worse, then surely taking a stand against another twenty-three isn’t going to knock me down. I’m a woman, after and above all, and that’s what gives me the edge.

Born to live, not die – I’m certain that it will always be better that way.

I take it all on the chin. Fall nine times, get up ten; it’s a philosophy that has got me here and right now, I’m still breathing so it is working. The status quo feels safe and safe isn’t what any of us came here to be or feel. Volunteers from all across the board wanted to throw themselves into situations where they come face to face with a double-edged sword, both sides reflecting different ways to die due to the same devil. I hold my head up because that is all I can do. My status quo isn’t the like everybody else’s, I’m different, for the better, and that is what lights the fire in stomach to pride myself on mind, muscle and magnitude.

I want to make the people that doubted I was destined for anything less than grace jealous. I want to be that girl, deep down, I know that I am. My femininity is my ferocity and I’ve just been waiting my entire life to get an audience to hear my roar.

And now I’m here. Seconds away from doom but I’m feeling empowered by the sensation of uncertainty. Terror comes in the from of whimsical nature, but it fails to provide a solid distraction from what we all have to do. Twenty-three other faces lie bare in the spaces around me and they are chalky with the sight of weaponry and theatrics, they are broken with the thought of death thick in the air and above all, they are promising themselves to try and stay alive. I don’t mean to be a homewrecker, but when there are bodies standing in the way of my own future, there’s no other choice. And sure, maybe it is selfish to immediately discredit these other people without reading into their stories and understanding them on a level that isn’t entirely superficial – but this is a dog eat dog world. Someone has to be the predator because that is what keeps the competition circling.

I close my eyes and calm my heart with the ticking of the clock. Deep breaths can only provide so much comfort, and besides, adrenaline has greater capabilities than anyone knows. I detach myself from the thinking world and adjust my feet in reality; a reality bursting with terror where you’re either endangered or dangerous.

The latter is my liberation. I take a final deep breath in and feel that shit in my lungs swell and build until the gong sounds – my eyes open – and I run into hell on earth.

I’m not going to work hard, I’m going to work smart.

Whew Twelve, I promise I'm going to get shit done.

[ cassia oretio enters the bloodbath ]

[dars]

Last Edit: Jun 23, 2018 9:19:53 GMT -5 by Deleted

Lyn𝛿is
Capitol Resident

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Pronouns: ; DROP TABLE Gender;--
last seen Aug 25, 2023 23:48:21 GMT -5

does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker? ✯

The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:13:43 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Lyn𝛿is on Jun 23, 2018 9:13:43 GMT -5

Jun 23, 2018 9:03:36 GMT -5 Lyn𝛿is said:

Neela Chiffon | Intro | no dice

Neela Chiffon | Flee | no dice

Neela Chiffon

- but not by your hand.

You're not sure where girls like you fit into the picture; so when the gong sounds you run, run far away; and you don't know if that makes you a coward, or the beginnings of the hero you've always wanted to be.

Wind on your heels you run, as though you could escape your own demons, as though you could leave your own feelings behind; until the sounds of fighting and killing are far behind you and you're convinced that you've outpaced the entire field of tributes.

Let them fight, you think. You'll figure yourself out at your own pace.

Neela flees, aiding Charlie Surber

"Yeah… You have to be careful when placing labels on good and evil, Celice. Never waste your anger on individuals. Always focus it on the evil within all of us."
- Lewyn, Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War

Cato
Librarian

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I wish Cato didnt die

The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:13:52 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Cato on Jun 23, 2018 9:13:52 GMT -5

Jun 23, 2018 9:03:38 GMT -5 Cato said:

[Cesare Crocetti | Intro ]

[Cesare Crocetti | Flee]

But before too long I'm running away. None of this is needed, and I just have to hope that the viewers like me. I have to hope that they're willing to sponsor someone like myself who's running away. I'm not afraid of a fight, and yet I don't want to take this moment to die. As long as other careers are still alive, my life is in danger. It's a shame, though, because I know that I am better than them. I just need to plan my moves methodically. I have to plan my attack. I have to make sure everything is in order, and the bloodbath is simply chaotic. No need to die here when I can slaughter everyone later.

Cesare flees the bloodbath

kap
Retired Staff

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trans rights are human rights <3

The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:14:00 GMT -5

Quote

Post by kap on Jun 23, 2018 9:14:00 GMT -5

Jun 23, 2018 9:03:50 GMT -5 kap said:

[Ping Lanhua | Intro]

[Ping Lanhua | Attack 1 | 5147 on Volkner]

[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]Ping Lanhua

As the chaos known as the bloodbath truly began, attacks were rolling in, and I began to feel my hear rate pick up more and more. I hated that I had to fight, but I knew I had to, if I wanted to live, and I most certainly wanted to live. Merida and the others would be rooting for me, and here, I had Florence, Stitch and Lavina to protect me. Now I just had to fight the other tributes who were opposing me, and hope that I could make it out alive. My first target was a boy I knew that Lavina wasn't all too fond of. All the more reason to hit him over the other tributes, I suppose. That is, if there's ever a reason to hit anyone.

Ping Lanhua attacks Volkner Meinhardt with unarmed

JRYWBl2_unarmed

[5147 -- Broken Left Foot -- 6.5 damage]
Ping Lanhua picks up 8 throwing knives

unarmed

Last Edit: Jun 23, 2018 9:15:32 GMT -5 by kap

Tom
Moderator

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OowoO

The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:14:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Tom on Jun 23, 2018 9:14:09 GMT -5

Jun 23, 2018 9:03:45 GMT -5 Tom said:

[Volkner Meinhardt D1M | Intro]

[Volkner Meinhardt D1M | Attack #1 | 5136]

v o l k n e r;

Running was no fun. He's never liked it as a kid and almost into adulthood, he dislikes the feeling of running, but he's used to it. Used to the emptiness that resides in his chest as the weight of the world comes crashing down onto his chest. Feet hit the ground like a race to see which one of them could send another to see death right away. Fingers clenching as he wants to reach a weapon to feel better off, even though he could crush someone's skull easily with his bare hands. He would prefer to find something sharp and deadly before it's too late.

And then he's swinging at someone. Arm heavy, fist drawn, and his eyes go wide in humor. The games were just beginning and he felt like this was where he was meant to prove himself. The place where he could make things better for himself. Selfish men do not risk their lives. He was not selfish like his brother said. He wasn't wanting to test out his traps on real people. He wanted to just fix things that seemed fixable with a crown and money to spare. All he could do now was swing and reach down and grab the Bow and arrows nearby. Soon, the world would see what a monster he truly can be.

(Volkner Meinhardt attacks Charlie Surber unarmed)
42YbDrKCunarmed
(bruised right femur 3.0)

(Volkner grabs Bow & 10 arrows)

unarmed

Last Edit: Jun 23, 2018 9:15:36 GMT -5 by Tom

Made by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

lance
Head Librarian

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gay and chaotic? call it gayos

The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:14:15 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Jun 23, 2018 9:14:15 GMT -5

Jun 23, 2018 9:03:52 GMT -5 lance said:

akira sokatoa | intro

akira sokatoa | attack one | 5009

You run, you glide, you soar, as if nothing else in the world mattered. And for the moment, perhaps it didn’t. Matters of life and death pulled you forward, pure adrenaline giving the nerdy boy from the technology district the ability to skim over grass and mud like a world class sprinter. Inwardly, you know you’d regret it if you ever walked away again, but that is the least of your worries at the moment.

You soar, you land, you stumble, right into another. The boy looks vaguely familiar in the split second you register him, but now is no time for caution.

So you strike, weapon or no, at your would-be assailant.

akira attacks charlie surber, unarmed

fq0LAIjbunarmed

5009 -- Thrown to Ground -- 0.5 damage

picks up spear

unarmed

Last Edit: Jun 23, 2018 9:15:12 GMT -5 by lance

credit to darsypoo uwu

credit to fireflyz!

credit to stare!

[nyte]
Head RP Tutor

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oof

The Bloodbath Jun 23, 2018 9:14:16 GMT -5

Quote

Post by [nyte] on Jun 23, 2018 9:14:16 GMT -5

Jun 23, 2018 9:03:55 GMT -5 [nyte] said:

[belladonna ruze, attack one, 5043]

belladonna

Andy was in my bed this morning. I don't think he remembers how he got there. There was sorrow laced within the tears upon his cheeks and I wish there was a point in telling him that I was sorry- that all of this will be okay. But it won't. One of us will make it out of the arena and in spite of the friends that I have made they are meaningless gestures- desperation to cling to what we used to have. To what we used to be.

Human.

But perhaps I have an advantage, hidden in the dirt beneath my nails- I never was.

[attacks Charlie Surber -- Unarmed]
BENQNHSjunarmed
[Block -- 0.0 damage]

[bella picks up item one]unarmed

Last Edit: Jun 23, 2018 9:17:07 GMT -5 by [nyte]

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n