The Bloodbath

[[nyte]]

Good morning and welcome to the 79th Annual Hunger Games Bloodbath, 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:

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 THREE 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.
- 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 tributes to post in the Bloodbath in order to be eligible for the Wealth.

Good luck Tributes and may the odds be ever in your favour.

Today's Weather
Foggy;
Humidity: 20%
Temperature: 65F (26.7C)
Wind: 8 mph (12.8 kmph)

Items Lists
Located here

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[GONG]

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

[Yusei Rhee | Intro]

This is not a day I'm looking forward to. All my intentions of getting Cirque's attention has failed, and now I'm about to go into this giant death match where I'm probably going to die. Death on one hand will bring me home to my parents, and I want to see them so bad - it's a day I yearn for, but on the other hand, I have to hope to survive so the girl of my dreams will realize that I want her to see me as something more than a peasant. It hurts because I've possibly thrown my life away for a girl that doesn't even care.

As a career, I trained for this. I've prepared myself for this very moment, but I took a different look on life. I fear the idea of being this killing monster will creep inside me like it did before the change. Just have to keep reminding myself that all lives matter, and that self defense is more important than anything. Make my opponent frustrated. Do something different than most people. I remember the days of wanting this. Of practicing. Of tearing dummies apart in the training center. I thought it would be easy being in the games, but things are different now, and I don't want to be a monster.

I put my uniform on, and it's not that bad, really. The suit is nice in a way. It's not completely my style, but I feel I can make this work in my favor. I can't shake the nerves. I'm not ready to fight. I'm not ready to kill. I'm not ready to die. I want to go home to the comforts of my own bed. These last several days I've been convincing myself that this is real, and today it hits me like a brick. I'm afraid. Surely a career isn't afraid of something like this. That's what I told myself when I trained, but boy was I wrong. I can only hope to survive. To make it out of here alive.

I drink a glass of water in attempts to calm my nerves, but eating food is out of the question. Sometimes I think people get the wrong feeling of careers. They think they're this monster that doesn't know the difference between good and bad, but I want to show them otherwise. Give people in the other districts a view at someone who doesn't want to kill despite growing up in district one. Offer a new perspective. It's all I can do right now. Most careers are the killing machines the Capitol is wanting, but we're not all bad. I've seen it before, and I'm tired of being stereotyped.

Time flies, and I'm on the roof boarding the hovercraft, and the next thing I know I'm standing in the catacombs beneath the arena. Most of my time here is spent pacing the room trying to figure out my best plan of action. All I can do is be me. I can't go against what I know. I can't pretend to be someone that I'm not, and I'm not ready to murder innocent people. I have to remember what I was taught. Self defense. Don't provoke anyone, and if they attack me, I'll strike back. It's all I can do, and if it gets me killed, at least I'll be with my mom and dad again.

As the clock ticks away, I stand on the metal plate, and when the glass surrounds me, I start panicking, but the darkness is over soon. My eyes widen, and I'm staring at the cornucopia. It's huge, massive. A giant shop even bigger than the ones I've seen at home. It's a trap though. They're wanting me to go in and fight, but I can't do that. I can't fight I have to run. It's the only way to survive, right?

I take a deep breath trying to calm myself even more, but it's hard because the time is counting away. My hands are shaking, and I try to grip my pants to prevent everyone from seeing. I'm looking around knowing I can't fight some of these careers. I can't win. I just wanted Cirque to notice me. I just wanted her to see that I'm more than meets the eye. That I love her. That I care for her. That I did this for her, but my attempts didn't work, and here I am in this horrible place where I don't want to be. But all the thoughts go away because time is up and the gong sounds, and I run as fast as I can.

Yusei enters the bloodbath

[lance]

maxwell temple | intro

An eight.

I’d shown Flashy and Depressed my conviction, beat myself bloody against their puppets and their tools, and they’d rewarded my efforts with a score of eight. Just outside the top third percentile, good but not great, if the nine, three tens, and Carter’s eleven were anything to go by. Matched with four, I didn’t stand out - I blended in.

But perhaps that’s for the better. My score outdid Fiona’s paltry six, and that was all that mattered in the short term. Sponsors would take notice of that, and tributes didn’t fear one of the five eights, they feared the eleven that stood on top as king of the world. Perhaps that’s why I decided to keep Carter close to my back, as despicable as it sounds.

But I shake that thought off seconds after it dared to form, for the time for being nice and playing by the rules of compassion and pity have long since gone down the gutters of time. I’ll use whoever and whatever it takes to get back home if my life depended on it, and I’ll use every damn dirty trick of the trade to do so.

And believe me - living the life I lived back in Nine? A smart man never has a shortage.

First things first are figuring out when and where I can get out of the godawful get up that I’d been forced into by stylist what’s-her-face. She’d actually given me a choice between this fucked up old-fashioned suit that probably cost more than half of Nine or this long flowy gown shit that probably cost the other half. And not gonna lie, I was tempted to go with the gown simply for the leg room, because let it be known I hate suits with a passion, but if there’s one thing more impractical than tight pants and a stiff jacket, it’s tripping every five feet over your own clothing.

So yeah, first order of business after fighting to the death is getting out of this getup and into something more comfortable. And if more comfortable equals a Maxwell clothed in nothing but ripped shorts-that-used-to-be-slacks, then so be it. Maybe it’d even get me a few extra sponsors.

But first things first. Get in, grab a weapon or three, stab some bitches, get out, hopefully with Carter and the twins intact. That shouldn’t be that difficult, right?

I laugh, even as the plate begins its ascent. Knowing me, I just jinxed myself and am seconds away from my own demise. Who fucking knows, man?

When the plate stops, I’m not one but part of twenty four. The enigmatic girl and the lone wolf from One. The discount sized Careers from Two. The chaotic twins from Three. The yin-and-yang duo from Four. The quiet boy and the loud girl from Five. The fuck-it duo of Six. The pair from Seven that radiated powerful yet contrasting energies. The lion girl and lamb boy of Eight. My greatest rival for resources and myself, representing Nine. The girl whose first name was my last and the nervous looking twink from Ten. The latest in a long legacy of tributes and his fiery partner from Eleven. And then the hellion and card throwing Carter from Twelve.

Twenty three of won’t be leaving this place. But one will. And I’ll be damned if I don’t try my hardest to make sure it’s me.

Besides, Jordan would never forgive me otherwise. And we can’t have that now, can we?

maxwell enters the bloodbath

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

{Auto Grand Theft // Intro}

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The bite of the whiskey’s aroma remains upon tastebuds, still lingering a brush on my lips as though it had only just slithered down my throat. Subtly had strolled Larceny into my room last night, two filled shot glasses balancing within the clench of his fingertips in either of his hands. Our ritual sparked within his mind, of appearing ease, in a manner that my overwhelmed thoughts could not. Possible ways to manipulate the system controlled my mind with layouts on how we might both be able to make it through this with our inhales still intact. Manage to the conclusion and enforce a duo victory? One of us playing dead till transport from the Arena? Escape? But his sight and words paused the consideration.

“For tradition’s sake-“ He passed over one of the miniature glasses as if not even an ounce of fear rumbled through his veins. Settlement collapsed my mind momentarily from this at least, recalling the birth of this custom - Father’s possessive behavior for this particular beverage.

It’s as though nothing pertained higher value over the elegancy of the classiest whiskey brand. Our Mother, Ourselves, not even himself, seemed to matter more then his collection of his whiskey. Solely once we were beaten over our curiosity for the delicacy, a mere ten but desperate for a single sip of his prized possession. After such intelligence reigned us, and though we delved numerous times into his stash - he never discovered such. The night prior to a mission, we’d do exactly so. Because in our minds if we could survive him, we could survive anything.

Chatter rambled between the two of us after the liquid gold slithered into our system, though such a recollection never breached the conversation. Planning did, just as it always had - we’d kill, we’d strive, we’d complete the greatest heist of all. A smile glazed upon his cheeks as if hyped for such an endeavor, and he left to his own chamber with such certainty that this wouldn’t be our last night as a whole.

Only briefly have I’d seen him since, leisure maintaining upon his demeanor. Near silence roamed the chaos of the journey to the transportation, though still I just scarcely managed to absorb his words. “It’s just another job, so don’t screw it up.” Sarcasm barreled from his vocals, though a snipe of truth weaved through his words.

Eyebrows furrowed upon my features, crumbling to the humorous and flippant aroma he’s craving to induce upon this. “Speak for yourself.” A smidgen of my tongue even strikes out tauntingly back to him, unbothered by the level of our skills - simply by how far that’ll get us. Even the best of the best can be caught by the reaper when the odds are stacked against them. The impossible may actually be possible, while that’s not always the case. Still a smirk unraveled across me for him, determined to remain confident while we’re still permitted.

An option of attire unravels before me, urging my eyes to roll at the result. It seems as though Larceny’s taking this ordeal seriously compared to the Capitol. A suit and a gown hang in front of my unamused eyes, as though I were being prepared for an elegant ball. Least they have the decency to provide an option? Though it’s quite repulsive to consider anyone would encourage someone to wear a dress to a war. Didn’t take a second to decide on the appropriate choice, for the fancy stripped jacket sliding on me as though made solely for myself, and leave me without a distraction to what’s to come.

The ticking booms in it’s count down to the start of the end, before eyes can even adjust the scenario. Pavement unravels across the surrounding landscape where nature was to be expected. An enormous sign with an obnoxious name introduces any and all to the concrete environment. Beyond is nature that gains no time for concentration. Here is as close to home as it appears, and once my stare settles on Larceny that fact couldn’t be any more true.

10…

Shopping carts litter the asphalt, necessities bursting from it’s seams all alike. Enemies encircle from every which direction, while providing little threat to myself. It’s just another mission, another job, another obligation.

5…

Vision settles upon my other half once more, a grin returning to the edges of my lips - realizing the message he’s been trying to relay this entire time since my name was called. Today is just like any other day.

4…

We may succeed, or we will fail.

3…

We may reap the rewards, or we will be punished.

2…

We may live, or we will die.

1…

A nod gently nudges the edges of my features towards Larceny, agreeing in silence just as we always have before. And with that, I bounce with understanding of what has to be done.

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Beautiful Table by Arrows <3

{Auto Grand Theft Enters the Bloodbath}

[Arrows]

[Larceny Theft / Intro]

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The night late with winds carrying the commotions of cruelty from the ground below. Although most had already turned to sleep, my steps slink silently within the realm of the District floor. My fingers find themselves wrapped around the neck of a bottle. It’s interior liquid, an enchanting amber fills the space of two small shot glasses. Although the idea of two children drinking is repulsive to some, to the Thefts, such a moment was sacred. It is well known what it means when the whiskey is poured and shared beneath the silent weight of what is to come.

The District was quiet in its rest from the day when the two glasses found themselves before the eyes of both my sister and me. Silence sat on the lips of Father but the gesture being made was clear without words. I still remember the way that shot tasted, the way it seared itself in a slow sting down the channel of my throat. I remember the repulsed coughing which convulsed my chest for several seconds after my acceptance of the gift, the blessing. It is a hope, a prayer for success in the coming of a heist, a challenge that without question would test every inch of our abilities. It is a Theft tradition, and one that will not be broken tonight.

Within a nest of silken sheets Auto awakens from slight slumber to discover my presence and the presence of the glasses. Her face forms a serious setting as one of the two petite containers of alcoholic amber passes into her hands. Our eyes meet and beneath the sole illumination of the moon’s eternal existence, three words from my mouth are all that fill the room.

“For tradition’s sake.”

The glasses click in a ceremonious cheer and our mouths embrace the burning bite. Just as though the first time the liquor lingers on the back of my throat, its presence burning away slowly like a reminder of a fading fire. But while my mouth and throat sing songs of discomfort my stomach churns with welcomed warmth. There is a strong sense of hope within this moment, and although nearly no words are spoken I can tell Auto has the same feeling. Tomorrow we take to the stage. Tomorrow we truly embrace our upbringing.

I leave the side of my twin until the morning blooms with a sense of coming struggle. A storm lies stirring on the horizon and soon we will be abroad a hovercraft heading for its wrath. My figures stands stunning in a black suit with golden accents as I take hold of my sister wrist before the entrance to the journey, before our short separation. There is a sense of both seriousness and humor sewn into the sentence I speak.

“It’s just another job, so don’t screw it up.”

Auto’s eyes as always ignite with understanding a soft scoff spills from her lips.

“Speak for yourself.”

Time is short after that exchange. The journey to the stage within the storm is swift and the emotions of those surrounding me are wavering drastically. Some emit confidence while others are diluted with fear. Meanwhile, my senses are stable beneath a calm composure. I’ve gone to war before. This is just another battle in a series of many.

Atop a plate of metal I watch the final fragments of the old world wither into darkness as fragments of a new world appear before me. Elegance in the form of elaborate outfits circles a center of urban ruin, my eyes hone in on the desire of our alliance. The wealth sits waiting to be stolen, the first step towards the theft of the crown. Now is the time for action. The time to forever kill the child and unleash the thief.

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Larceny Theft enters the Bloodbath.

[aya]

[ lex_lionel_7f // intro ]

She can't believe it's already here.

Lex swears they had at least another week to spend in the Capitol before they were to go into the arena. But here she is, suiting up — literally, putting on a handsome red sport coat — for the slaughter.

She can't wrap her mind around why she wishes she had the time to get to know the others going into the arena with her. She's not a career. She's not a shrink. She's not a sociopath. It's not like knowing them better would make it easier to kill whoever she has to.

As she steps into the glass elevator, riding to the top, it strikes Lex that maybe, just maybe, she should've come up with a fucking plan. Get a weapon, get out? Surely there are other supplies she'll need. A bag or something — a rope, that might be useful. Tie a noose, take a hostage? Yeah, rope is great.

The closest thing resembling a tool is a pair of pliers. Those might be useful. In carpenters' hands, anything can be used for woodworking. Not that she wouldn't rather have her dad's array of hammers, saws, chisels, awls, his drill, his sander... anything familiar from home. They took the bent nail she'd tried to bring in as her token, citing rules forbidding weapons. She'd just found it in her pocket anyway. But it was something from home.

Instead she has... Angel, she supposes, but she doesn't know him — doesn't know anything about him besides he bested her impressive 9 in training.

The gong gongs.

[Tom]

[Carter Laws D12M | Intro]

Carter Laws

No amount of shuffling can stop the nerves in his stomach that ache so much.

Kings. Queens. Jacks. Numbers. Aces. Jokers. All of them were there again, but he doesn't feel comfortable as Jenas is fumbling with his outfit and adding personal touches to scream out his name or something. A shrug of his shoulders as he pockets the cards and thinks of Mitchell's own outfit. The heels from hell as Jack had called them and the outfit that Jack had told him looked way too uncomfortable to be fighting in. A shake of his head as he knew his own outfit would be hot if they were in an arena with relatively warm air. The suit seemed like the better option than the gown, only because he didn't want to be tripping over his own clothes while death may be finding him.

Death. Death was coming over them all and he couldn't help but feel like it may take him. Despite every best effort he can give about his score and his skills, his mindset hasn't changed. Mitchell Laws would see him which meant he was going to die. Giant personalities and deadly people would crush him under a blade or anything else. A deep breath as Jenas looks over to him. Nothing in his stylist's eyes tells him anything about the games or the arena. Silence filled as Jenas began putting Carter into his outfit. Sleeves that hold tightly to his forearms. Accents of indigo like it was his color for life. The story of Carter Laws revolving around cards and indigo. What a legacy it would be if Raisa Mortuus was correct. Jenas decides to speak now with a small smile.

"You're brother was a good man. Just as quiet as you are."

Ears perked as Carter slides into the slacks that were just perfectly above his ankle and would not be bait for easy trips like the gown would have been. Flashes of Mitchell Laws appear in his mind like his brother was with him in this moment. Sitting next to him with a frown on his face and tears in his eyes. A ghost of a hand from the wind hitting his hand and Carter swears that Mitchell was trying to comfort him, but he stays silent as Jenas continues talking about his older dead brother.

"He loved you. Wouldn't leave without telling me that he loved you so much."

Tears don't come out, but Carter's throat grows dry as he squeezes the edge of the metal counter tighter. Mitchell Laws loves him. Mitchell Laws wouldn't leave without someone knowing. A deep breath as he composes himself, tucking his cards into the jacket pocket and feeling Mitchell's warmth in that pack on his heart. Close to his heart, where his brother belonged. A silence in the air as Carter rights himself up and Jenas speaks once again.

"Laws. A strange family. Always so quiet, yet interesting. I'm both worried for you and excited to see what you do, Carter Laws."

Thump. Thump. Time was running out as Carter can feel them preparing for their final goodbye. The bile feels like it's coming up, but he holds it back and gives a small smile. Jenas pats his shoulder as Carter nods to the person who had talked him off the ledge for days. Stella Blakesley and Aranica Petros, the two who had given him the feeling of being wanted. Life still lives in his veins and he would give it his all for that. Jenas continues one last time.

"Make sure to watch yourself, Carter. Don't forget we're all here for you."

"I won't. Thank you, Jenas."

Time passes by faster once they rise up and up into the arena. Carter's ready to puke, but he can't. The biggest performance of his life was here in this hell that he was being taken to. The legacies of so many that were in each and every one of them. Each tribute had a story to tell, an old life that they may never go back to, and tricks up their sleeves. Would he be like them or die with no more tricks up his sleeve. He didn't know. The chill disappears as the warmth of the arena comes to life. Messing with his cuffs out of a nervous habit, he watches as familiar faces appear there. Wander. Maxwell. Larceny. Auto. Bette. Hell. So many faces that he would possibly never see again. A silence fills the area.

Black is the first thing he sees as he looks to the actual arena now. Asphalt that's radiating heat of the sun back at him. A banner flapping in the air like a reminder that this place was built just for them to kill in. An eleven attached to his name, would he be the biggest fish to fry or would they go for the true faces of this arena. No one should fear him. He wasn't a scary man like Mitchell Laws had been. A sixteen year old boy who had a few cards up his sleeve. Eyes catch the shopping carts near the center stacked with items of all sorts. Useful things meant to help them or hurt others in the arena. Useless garbage is there too, but people like Bette could figure out how to make something out of them.

Fingers tense as he hears the time start and his breath catches. This was the moment. The moment that the games truly began and the moment Carter Laws would be shown as a phony for getting an eleven out of twelve. Death lingers over the hot asphalt of this place, probably in the windows of the weird building across the way. A deep breath as he holds himself steady and ignores the bile threatening to come out. Not until he's safe. Not until he's okay. Then he can break down. Right now he needed to do everything in his will power to survive.

Jaime Laws once told him that every seven seconds someone in the world dies. Carter never knew where the statistic had came from, but in this moment all he could do was count to seven. Seven seconds and someone dies. Death laughs. Rinse and repeat. Seven seconds is all it took. A second shorter or longer meant death didn't exist. Carter isn't scared as he tenses his body to put on the mask of confidence again. Silence until the gong rings and his feet take over.

One.

People scramble.

Two.

Items lay in shopping carts for them.

Three.

Max, Larceny, and Auto are already running.

Four.

Mitchell Laws was holding his heart.

Five.

The Laws were watching him.

Six.

The number Eleven doesn't define him.

Seven.

Death was coming for all of them.

All Carter Laws could do was remember he wasn't alone.

"I'm strong. I'm not alone."

Like an ace, he decides to reach to be the highest ace that he could be. May his game begin with a perfect hand or a perfect poker face. After all, every heart had a spade.

And every Laws had a legacy to fight for.

[Carter Laws D12m enters Bloodbath]

[Knuckles]

{ Faux Rhodes | Intro }

Faux Rhodes

Outstretched arms reach for the sky as Faux pulls himself out of bed, but the joy of life isn't lingering nearby. A dark and gloomy cloud sits above preparing for the storm. For the last several days, he's lived in the eye of the storm, the calm, and now it's about to rip open.

A heavy sigh leaves his chest.

Right now the only person he wants to see is his brother, but Harbinger isn't anywhere to be found. Of course, Faux doesn't blame him for not wanting to see him on his way out, yet the idea of never seeing him again tears through his mind. Harbinger's strength carries through the storm, though, and Faux knows it.

Bare feet hit the floor, and his eyes dart around the room once more. An outfit is already prepared, and resisting it won't do him any good because he doesn't have a choice. It's picked out for him just like all his other outfits he wore so far. But it makes him wonder what the Gamemakers are up to. The suit is right up his alley -

He forces a smile, however, it doesn't take away the butterflies dancing inside his stomach. Hands continue shaking at his side. A racing heart prys at the cell its trapped in. Each breath catches behind a lump forming in the back of his throat;

It'll be okay.

But it won't be, and Faux knows that.

The idea of killing someone terrifies him more than anything in the world. Going from someone who lets wild animals run through his house to a victor is going to be a giant mountain, but all of this has been a mountain. It's just another uphill battle of finding contentment with life. It's just a chance to prove there's more than meets the eye.

Wide eyes dart around the moment the door to his room closes behind him. It's hard to breathe, hard to move, hard to do anything, yet he presses forward not only for himself, but for Harbinger. Being strong for his brother is important, but Faux is almost certain the emotions tearing through his body right now aren't anything new. Nowhere in the back of his mind, can Faux see Harbinger not feeling any of these.

I just want to go home.

An eerie calm surrounds him, and every hair stands on end.

Each breath is heavy, and his stomach is churning.

What if I'm just a fodder? What if they just want me dead?

Yes, twenty-three others want him dead, but what about the Capitol? Are they pulling for victor siblings, or are they hoping to watch his brother fall further into the pits of despair?

It's beyond him, but Faux climbs the stairs, and soon he's on the roof looking at the hovercraft floating through the air. It's his ride to his own funeral. Heights terrify him, but it's nothing compared to what's about to happen.

And then he's flying while keeping his head low to control the motion sickness. The last thing he wants is to throw up on the tributes sitting next to him.

When it lands, Faux practically runs through the doors, but he doesn't make it far. No, escaping never once crossed his mind, but getting off that horrible flying machine means making it to land. The arena sits just above him, and within a matter of moments, that Capitol will get the show they're hoping for.

Peacekeepers escort him through the tunnel, and then he's locked away inside a room.

His eyes can't leave the clock with time counting down.

For eighteen years, Faux saw his life with a hopeful future, but now it's crashing down with each passing second. His fate is in the making, and it's up to him to do something with it. Only he can keep himself alive. Having allies will help, but relying solely on them isn't going to work. He has to fight. He has to do thing he doesn't want to.

If Harbinger can make it through, so can I.

"Thirty seconds."

Inhaling as much air as possible, Faux forces himself to the metal platform.

"Ten seconds."

One minute. That's all he has right now. One minute of knowing he's alive. One minute of staying true to himself. One minute of hope, but it's taken away in the blink of an eye.

Darkness tears through his mind, and when he's up inside the arena, the light burns his eyes. But soon the pain goes away, and he's looking around searching for Carmen. She's the one person Faux trusts more than anything, and if one of them can return home alive, it'll make all of this worth it. Then he scans through the faces looking for Fiona and Oliver. Trust doesn't completely exist with them, yet they were people he cares for.

Aftering finding them, his eyes lock on the giant cornucopia in the center of the arena.

It's unlike anything he's seen before.

A giant shopping center much bigger than any back home. Items litter the shopping baskets, and Faux isn't sure if running towards them is worth it. But he has to have something. A weapon. Anything. Everything else can come later at least that's what he hopes for. Harbinger has a lot of work to do, and Faux's placing his trust in him. He has to because his brother is the only one that has his back.

~ten~
~nine~
~eight~
~seven~

He takes a deep breath while trying to find the eyes of his district partner. She's the one he wants to find. He needs to get to her. That's all he wants right now.

~gong~

Faux runs.

Save me, brother, because I can't be who you are.

{Faux enters the bloodbath}

[sbeeg]

[Temple Jones D10F | Intro]

White lace dripped down my body, the hem dragging the floor. Pearls wound around my neck, and I fidgeted with the yellow fabric from home still firmly tied around my wrist. The uniform wasn't very promising in terms of utility. My eyes scanned over the remaining items. A brown suit jacket sat on a rack, shiny bronze buttons hanging from the fabric. Mace's words echo in my mind.

"Frostbite is a bitch."

The hair on my arms raised as I was shuffled through a hallway, flanked by Peacekeepers. The whiteness of their uniforms were blinding.

The entire morning moved as a bland blur. Walking through hallways, waiting to walk down more hallways. It isn't until I'm standing on the metal plate and the tube as closed down around me that reality crashes down on me.

In one minute I will have only two options going forward- kill or be killed. I swallow back my fear, setting my face to stone as the plate raises me into the Arena for the first time.

The sun is relentless, heat radiating off the blacktop that stretches out in every direction. I suddenly regret listening to Mace Emberstatt, the thick brown coat growing warmer with every second.

I take the moment to look at the other twenty three kids waiting around me. Everyone is dressed in similar fashion to myself- fancy coats, bow ties, dangling earrings, and floor length gowns. My fingers raise to rest on the pearls pressing against my throat.


I can spot Miss Sublino farthest away, and the tiny frame of Miss Renner. Friend Wander is close by as well and I feel relieved that I can see all three of them straight from the start.

The clock ticks bye and my heart beats faster. What else had the victors told her to do? Mace's advice amounted to get allies and grab a coat, both of which were firmly checked off my list.

The numbers flickered by and I guess in this moment of helplessness, staring out at the expanse of land were soon many would die yet unable to stop it I could only turn to one thing. The simple advice of the latest victor back home.


"Mr Ripred, sir," I think, my eyes sliding closed, the hot wind beating the exposed skin of my face. "Please, help me home."


I stretch out my fingers over my chest, feeling the hammering of my heart beneath bone and flesh.

"Don't let me die here."

Gong.

[Temple Jones has entered the Bloodbath]

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

[ Anatalia Morrisen // INTRO]

Breathe, baby girl. Breathe.

The apartments are always loud when the day of the bloodbath happens, and as much as Anatalia rose from her bed, she realized that she did not feel like the phoenix she portrayed herself to be.

She felt like she did not deserve to be here.

Pre-game jitters was something that Annie thought she would never experience, but who was she kidding. She stayed up restlessly, trying to figure out just exactly what she was going to do once she hit the ground in the cornucopia.

She took deep breathes as she took a long sip of water.

She was branded an 8. A score that blew Dymas’s out of the water. She was proud of it, but she was quickly showed up by her district partner who scored a 10. Her stylist and escort told her that she shouldn’t worry too much. An 8 was nothing to discourage. However, Annie had a complex. She wanted to be the best. She wanted to show everyone that she could do what she was going to be tasked with here.

She knew she wanted to win, but she now had roadblocks in her way. She did not know how to break them down, and soon she felt like they were towering over her.

However, she remain quiet about all of this, because no one needed to know that she was secretly jealous that the attention was not all on her. She knew that her district partner wasn’t even close to being a career, and that they had a different type of complex when it came to the games. Annie tried to push it out of her mind, but it always found a way to creep right back in.

And now she was sitting at her bed wondering if she was even worthy of this moment.

---

She wondered what it was like for Dymas when he went through this experience two years ago.

Did he even think about the ramifications of what it meant to not be taken seriously in the games?

Did he not think that his score was a clear sign that he was in over his head?

Did he wonder what it was going to be like when he jumped off that pedestal?

Annie wondered a lot of things about the boy who she thought was not ready to go into the games when he did.

He had too much of an attachment to her cousin Angel, and to be ready for the games, Annie was always taught to separate herself from the bonds that she made back home.

Of course, that was easy for her because she did not have anyone that loved her, besides Angel.

Angel was a boy that treated her like she was a normal girl. It was a simple thought, but Annie could not help but think of her mother when she was around him. He was kind, someone who did not want to do anything bad in his life but swim and collect sea shells. He lived a simple life, nil of drama and complicatedness.

And her father hated every moment of it.

---

But she didn’t. If anything that is what kept her somewhat sane. There were many days where Annie had acted like the typical career. She spent most of her days in the training center trying to show off to the other tributes.

From the looks of it, she didn’t think much of the other careers this games. She wasn’t even sure if she could call any of them actual careers. They all seemed like they had no clue what they were doing.

Annie though wasn’t here to judge, but her mother always taught her how to behave around people that she did not know.

They all seemed kind, something that reminded her of Angel.

Angel was the reason why she knew how to act like a normal girl, and to her surprise, she found comfort in some of the people that graced their presence with her.

Parson Cham, a boy from six that reminded her of Dymas actually. He seemed like he was reckless in a good way. Something that she never thought she would actually see again as long as she lived.

Then there was Angel De Costa, a boy from seven who seemed to not have any care in the world. However, he reminded Annie of the Angel that she knew. He was going to be the boy that she was going to be the closest too. She already knew that much.

And then there was Hellion Mo. A girl who seemed to think the world was out to get her. Annie could relate to that. So much so that she found comfort in the fact that she had the a cut throat attitude. She was willing to do what it took to show everyone wrong. And that was exactly what Annie had set out to do herself.

They were an odd group of tributes to call allies, but Annie could tell that besides the boy from one, there weren’t many careers this games. Long gone were the days when careers were the only ones who were reaped. Now that they didn’t have special choosing ceremonies in any of the districts, anyone could come out of the wood work here.

Annie thought about Eva Tidestone for example. Annie had seen her a handful of times around the district, but she knew that she wasn’t a career. Not even in the slightest. However, her name was called the same day Dymas’s was and she went into the games regardless. No one stepped in for her. No one bothered to spare her from death. That told Annie that she was willing to die in those games.

Something that Annie would never understand.

---

She took deep breaths as she tried to calm her mind and her body.

She finally got out of bed and stretched out her joints. She cracked each one in succession, a sound that she would have to get used to in the arena. There was never a day in the arena where someone didn’t break a bone, and Annie was hell bent on making sure that would not happen to her.

She looked at Leon for a moment before walking past him and Wander and heading straight into the bathroom.

She locked the door behind her and began to think about how much she wanted to win this. How much she wanted to do this for her mother. How much this meant to her. Her fingers traced her neck for a moment, touching the necklace that Angel had given her before she went into the arena. It was the same one that he had made for Dymas, it even had a bit of blood on it from the games where it went into. Her hands graced over the crooks and crannies of it, and she simply looked at herself in the mirror.

She wasn’t sure what to say.

She turned on the water and splashed it in her face.

This was her moment to tell herself that she could do this.

She could march into that arena and show everyone what it meant to do this for someone that you love.

She could march into that arena as fierce as she acted and pull out all the stops. She could have showed people what it meant growing up in four to a father that was a piece of shit and a mother that died way too soon.

She could show everyone what it meant to bear the name Anatalia Morrisen.

She smacked her cheeks lightly, noticing a small tinge of pink appear on her cheeks as she turned the water off and stared at her reflection.

However no words were spoken.

Nothing was said.

She simply nodded at her reflection.

---

And she made her way down to the send offs.

She had never thought that she would have made it down here in her life. She thought she would have suffered the same fate as Angel.

She thought she wouldn’t go into the games and instead she could have aged out and done what she wanted with her life. After all, her father could not do anything about it. She would have simply been too old to continue on.

It would have been a cop out, but something that she could at least bank on. It wasn’t like he could reverse engineer time just to make sure that she went in this year.

Of course, he could hope and pray that the next quell would be an adult games of some sort, but Annie didn’t think about that. There would be no point in thinking about anything like that after all.

She was here and now, and she knew that she was ready to go up against anyone.

She wasn’t going to let anyone clip her wings, not even her father, who cared so little about her that he didn’t even try to send her off. He just wanted her to get to the capital already.

She hoped she did win this, so she could come back and shove it in her fathers face.

At the end of the day, she was doing this to not only honor her mother, but show up her father.

Annie had something to prove, and she wasn’t going to let anyone stand in her way of making sure that happened.

Come hell or high water, Annie was going to try her damn hardest to come out as the victor of the 80th games.

---

And the moment she stood there in front of Leon, she thought about how much it meant to her that he was actually here for her.

Sure, that was his job, but still, it was nice to have someone who actually wanted to see you make it out. Annie of course didn’t think about it too much, because at the end of the day, there was still a chance that she could be massacred the moment that she stepped off that plate. Just because Annie was a career did not mean that she was better than the rest of the tributes.

If anything, she had to be even more cautious.

The tributes from the lower districts could always be unpredictable, and the other tributes from the higher districts could actually turn on her.

She was not safe because of her career status, so it would be silly of her to think that she would skate out of the bloodbath without a couple scars.

At this point, she expected it if anything.

And so she exchanged some words with Leon, asking him what it was like when he went into his games.

She wanted to know what to expect the moment she got into the arena, because watching it from a TV screen was never the same as actually being inside of it.

For all that Annie knew, she could have freeze up on site and be nothing more than a glorified target.

She listened to Leon’s words though and took a deep breath. This was not something to take lightly. This was the moment that could change her life for either the better.

Or the worst.

And it was up to Annie to do the work that it took to make sure that she didn’t die here.

Annie was a fighter, and she had to remember that. Regardless of how she felt about her training and her father, she had to appreciate the fact that he had prepared her for this moment.

That he took the time to make sure that if she ever went into the games, that she would be ready for what may come.

And so after a couple more words of affirmation from Leon, she simply smiled as they slipped her into her tributes outfit.

In that moment, Annie couldn’t help but feel beautiful. But this was not the time to be gushing over the outfit choice.

Instead, it was time for Annie to step foot into the tube.

And so she did.

---

And as she looked at Leon behind the tube that closed, she started to ascend to the heavens. She took a deep breath and thought about how this moment was the moment that she was preparing for since she started training at a young age.

This was the moment where she would be tested. Where her father would be tested. Where her resolve would be tested.

As much as she didn’t want to think about it, all eyes were on her, and she could feel the pressure on her shoulders.

She took a deep breath as she started to peak up through the tube and get a glimpse at the cornucopia.

For once, Annie was a little flabbergasted. She had never seen anything like it, and the air felt thick around her with tension. More tributes started to appear and Annie couldn’t help but scan the area for the rest of her teammates. She noticed quickly that they weren’t too far from them, and she simply smiled.

Good.

People that she trusted were close by.

Her smile grew larger as she watched the clock count down from sixty. It felt like an eternity as it moved down a number with each passing cosmos.

She wondered what was going through the mind of the rest of the tributes. She wondered if any of them felt any of the things that she was feeling right now.

She was feeling a couple emotions, the main ones being fear and doubt. However, Annie knew how to push those out of her mind and replace them with confidence and strength.

She just had to keep reminding herself of who she was doing this for.

She was here because of her mother. She was here to prove to herself that she was strong, and she was here to show her father that she was not a pawn in his chess game.

She was here because she wanted to prove that four could produce a successful tribute.

She was here to prove to herself that she was not afraid of dying for what she believed in.

But most importantly, she was here to discover just exactly who she was.

She knew that she could change in a moments notice, and she had watched Dymas go through exactly that. However, she thought that he changed for the better. She wished that he didn’t go out the way that he did, but at the end of the day, he did it because he didn’t want to lose himself.

Something that Annie still needed to learn about herself.

But right now was not the time to discover things. Right now it was time to show everyone that she was Anatalia Morrisen. The career who got an eight. The girl who had everything to prove. The girl who wore her heart on her sleeve as much as she didn’t want to admit it.

---

Her eyes fell on a cart that was in front of her, and then her eyes scanned up and saw that the clock was starting to hit the teens.

She took a deep breath and started to ready herself on the pedestal. The moment that the clock hit zero, she needed to jump into action and show people that she was as fierce as she carried herself in the training center.

She needed to prove to someone, anyone, that she was not afraid to spill blood, that she was trained to eliminate anyone that stood in her way.

Her eyes locked on the girl from three for a moment before scanning around and finding her eyes gravitating to other tributes that were around the center.

Everything seemed to blend together as the clock was starting to near its destination.

She thought about how worried her mother would have been about her, but also thought about how proud she would have been for Annie making it this far.

After all, her PTS was a dedication to her mother that she would never see.

That crushed her just a little bit, but she hoped that somewhere, somehow, she was watching.

Of course, she was gone, but that did not mean that Annie did not feel her presence from time to time.

She wished that she could have wished her goodbye the day she died, just like she wished she could have wished her goodbye at the justice building.

Annie’s life was full of wishes that she wanted to be granted, but none of them would ever come true because there was nothing more that she could do at this point.

Wishes did not come true for girls who did not know how to properly ask for them.

And so she did not wish for anything out loud.

She did it in private where no one would be able to judge her for being weak.

However now she was on display for all of Panem to see, and as much as she prayed to ripred for guidance and faith, she would receive none of that.

Instead she had to show ripred that she deserved to be watched over.

She had to show everyone that she was not afraid of anything that would pop into her life.

Annie knew that she was strong, but now she needed to prove to everyone else that she was. She needed to show them.

She needed to show her father, Angel, her mother, but most importantly she needed to show herself.

And so with the clock striking zero, she thought about how much this was going to change her life. How this was her moment to show everyone that Anatalia Morrisen was up to the task to go into this games and do what was needed to be done.

And so with a brave spirit and a heart that was yearning to impress everyone that was waiting for her back home, she jumped off the pedestal as soon as it reached zero.

And she hoped that she would make everyone proud.

[Annie enters the BB]

[charlotte fel d11 [Tribsit]]

[Shy Aubergine | Intro]

Actions
Thoughts
"My Speech"
"Your Speech"
Other

All night I tossed and turned. The day i’ve been begrudgingly trained for all my life is coming up. My biggest nightmare in existence. I lost count after the fifth time waking up, and gave up completely trying to stay asleep around 5am. Since then, I’ve been laying in bed, thinking about all the horrific things that could happen. I imagine all the worse possible ways someone could die in the bloodbath, with all the blood and guts spilling out of their bodies. If i had eaten anything before I knew I would have barfed.

After an entreaty of laying in bed, I drag myself out of bed to try to eat something, knowing I probably won’t be able to eat anything nice ever again. I pick my final meal carefully. Scrambled eggs, french toast, bacon, and sausage patties. Deep down, I have a feeling most of it’s gonna be coming back up and out in a couple of hours, or but that doesn’t stop me. I need to eat. For my strength or whatever.

Before I leave, I decide to try something I haven’t ever tried before, mainly because my parents never let me: coffee. I wonder why they never let me try it. I shrug, pour myself into a travel cup and head on out to the stylist place.

On my way, I take my first sip of the black caffeinated beverage and spit it out instantly. Oh, that’s why. It tastes terrible! How come they drink it then? They must have burnt off all their taste buds. I sit down and smile at the stylist, nodding and agreeing with everything they say, not really paying attention to what they’re doing to me. Next thing I know I’m all dressed up in a fancy royal blue tux. Oh. This is new. I like it. I feel so important! Well, I am considering I”m gonna die in who knows how long. I thank them for everything and walk on to where I’m supposed to be.

Looking around, I see all the other tributes running around doing what they do and some extra chaos from those who work down here. I try to look for Quest, but I don’t get to see her before I get shoved into the tube. Next thing I know, the tube counts down and lifts me up. Panic sets in as I forgot how much I hate the game and people. When it stops at the top, I can barely breath. The other 23 tributes surround me, looking more menacing. I know I had to survive and that I needed to get out of there to do that. As soon as the buzzer rings, I run off as fast as I can towards somewhere, anywhere. Just as long as it wasn’t there.

[Shy Aubergine enters the bloodbath]

[Elite Hops D4M [sitter]]

[bette sublino | intro]

Back to back. I hear an owl cry
From its cold indigo.
Intolerable vowels enter my heart.

The child in the white crib revolves and sighs,
Opens its mouth now, demanding.
His little face is carved in pained, red wood.

Then there are the stars - ineradicable, hard.
One touch : it burns and sickens.
I cannot see your eyes.

Where apple bloom ices the night
I walk in a ring,
A groove of old faults, deep and bitter.

Bette finishes her breakfast a half hour before they come for her: simple pleasures, fragments of Home. Roti and chutney, a bowl of savory porridge. She takes three pieces of hard candy for the road, rolling the first one against the roof of her mouth as the hovercraft lifts. They don’t let her have the other two, which is fair but a disappointment.

She can tell, if not by the sparkle in her eyes then by the way the garment is shoved into her hands to try on, that Sardonyx would put both her and Yusei in this dress if she had her way. And Bette must admit, had this been any other situation she might have allowed it. But she keeps her foot firmly down as she feels the sheer fabric, sees all the impracticalities. She does, however, still try it on, and does a quick twirl to appease her stylist.

On the plate itself, Sardonyx fixes the lines of the suit jacket, smooths out the collar of the button-up shirt, adjusts the pearl necklace that hangs where a tie was. The makeup, with a wine-red lipstick, is distinctly femme.

Stepping back, Sardonyx waves in her usual manner, mouths something that Bette doesn’t quite comprehend but she still appreciates the gesture. The send-off.

The darkness brings a long exhale, strife with a fury, or resignation, or indignation - she wouldn’t tell you had you asked, maybe she wouldn’t know herself, what her reaction truly is in these seconds as she leaves one world unknown for another, to be discovered.

And then, as quickly as the light faded away, it rises back into fruition - rays winding back and forth through the pipe.

She blinks, would yawn had she not felt as though she’d had a shot of caffeine.

With the energy of a storm heralded by sailors, she breathes in her surroundings and flexes her fingers. Truth be told, she doesn’t quiet know what she’s looking at.

The ground is littered with a grid of white lines, a fresh coat of paint directing her gaze to the center of the conflict and piles upon piles of shopping carts. Goods spill out of them like a pirate’s plunder, a supermarket’s sale when the produce is days from going rotten.

Haphazard is the word that comes to mind. Chaos amid order - juxtapositions. Her eyes flicker to the left and the right, surveying the others - she would still consider them compatriots for one more minute - looking for the Eve’s face, Wander’s, Temple’s; she sees the girl from ten three plates over.

The countdown reaches 45, then 30, then 10 - she absorbs as much as she can while she’s here, of the surrounding lands that split into three distinct biomes: a forest, the trees looming in the distance; a garden of greenery, hard to see but suspiciously rendered; a third, obscured by the geometric curl of the Cornicopia’s tail.

Her fingers shake slightly; she makes no move to calm them - they would snap back into action when the moment came. But she does lower her stances, taking a mark as the final seconds wind down.

She can hear her heartbeat, and for one moment she allows herself to think of her family, whose eyes are locked onto hers, no matter where the camera pans. She sends them a thought, a prayer, hoping that someone may hear it across hundreds of miles.

Then, it begins.

Love cannot come here.
A black gap discloses itself.
On the opposite lip

A small white soul is waving, a small white maggot.
My limbs, also, have left me.
Who has dismembered us?

The dark is melting. We touch like cripples.

Stanzas from Event, by Sylvia Plath

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

[Eve Renner, D2F // Intro]

Your stitches are all out
But your scars are healing wrong

The day doesn’t start so much as continue from the night before,

.Sleepless,

Shaking.

The 7 still rings in my ears, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

Good?

Proud?

Mediocre?

People heartily congratulated me on the 7, as if they expected me to get a 1.

.I don’t know why this frustrates me.

I expected a 1 not because what I did was sub-par,

but because I am

And their vocal congratulations don’t do anything for me except tell me that I’m going to die.

Images of the past and future intermingle somewhere in front of my eyes as I try and fail to sleep, and it looks rough on both sides.

I curl into a ball on this bed that isn’t my own, .wanting the whole world to feel just a little more comfortable., wanting the gentle embrace of my blanket to swallow me up, wanting a hug from my Mother and some advice from my Father,

And I know I’m never going to see them again.

This isn’t up for negotiation,

.I’m gone.

And what I wouldn’t give right now to hear something kind from my brother, to hear him say ”Eve, .everything is going to be alright,”

”Eve, .you are going to be okay,”

”Eve, .you are so, so loved.”

Sometimes it helps to think of those things. But waking up this morning, extending my hands out from the warm blanket on a bed that doesn’t belong to me,

I feel the cold air, and I remember.

I haven’t died, not yet, but the remembering is the worst part.

I’m pulled through the morning with a flood of decisions that are not my own, except when my stylist presents me with a choice: a dress or a suit? And it makes me sad to choose the dress, even with a stylist, even with a whole group of people working alongside the expert on the matter, urging me on to something that seems so… adult.

(Do you think it makes them feel more comfortable, to craft us into something more adult before they kill us?)

I opt for the suit because it reminds me of my brother, and because I don’t want anyone’s eyes on me, not more than they already will be. There’s no dignity in dying in front of thousands, but there’s something even worse about being prey to people you don’t know.

The suit I pick is the sleekest of the bunch, so black it looks like I’m headed for somebody’s funeral,

or a very fancy party,

And I pluck a pearl necklace from the pile to go with my bowtie.

.I don’t know why it matters how I’m viewed, but it does, and we’re all dying anyway.

They tug me along to the beginning of my demise in a well-pressed suit,

.and this is me,

clinging to dignity that nobody ever told me I had in the first place,

Eyes glassy,

Hair cut,

Body scrubbed,

Feeling like a child’s doll and not a child.

”is there anything we can do for you?” someone asks me,

And I shake my head no, pressing my fingernails to my palm as we wait, until it is time to go,

And they press me towards the glass,

toward the beginning,

toward the end,

Ascending,

Descending,

And fear is becoming more and more apparent with every passing second, the world suddenly vivid again. I see the way the glass shines, the texture of the plate beneath my feet, the sunshine as we rise.

And then I see the faces of the others, and my body freezes, and I know I must look small and scared,

60, 59, 58, 57, 56, 55, 54, 53, 52, 51, 50,

staring at my feet,

49, 48, 47, 46, 45, 44, 43, 42, 41, 40,

.hands shaking

39, 38, 37, 36, 35, 34,

body wilting

33 32 31

.Fear stabbing through my veins like a knife, paralyzed

30

A half minute before the world goes to hell.

20

At about 10 seconds, I remember that I am a real person,

At 4, I try to forget,

3

2

1


[Eve Renner enters the Bloodbath]

lyrics: One More Time With Feeling by Regina Spektor

[kap]

[Oliver Wren | Intro]

Oliver Wren

Knowing that the bloodbath was today, as soon as I opened my eyes, I was filled with fear and anxiety. I was nervous, terrified, and almost one hundred percent certain that I was going to die. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the last breath that I ever took was today. It just seemed so likely to me that it was going to be what would happen. I’d said goodbye to Jory the day of the reaping, and now, even though I’d done that and told him I was going to make it back to him, I was starting to doubt myself.

I was afraid of what the bloodbath would hold for me. Despite having friends, or at least allies in the Games, those being Faux, Carmen and Fiona, I wasn’t safe. No one could completely protect another person from death. There was no way of preventing it altogether. That just couldn’t be avoided forever. Death was inevitable, in the end. It was just a matter of how soon it would arrive for some people compared to others. I felt useless, weak and pathetic as I thought about what I’d be facing soon.

---

When my stylist told me that it was time to get ready and into my tribute uniform, my brain started to panic. What I’d seen tributes in, clothing-wise, most of the time, was absolutely terrible looking. I didn’t want to die looking like a complete idiot.

Luckily, what my stylist ended up putting me in was far from making me look like a complete idiot. It was actually quite nice looking. It was a black suit, white button-down shirt and a black bow tie. To be entirely honest, when I saw myself in it, the first thing that crossed my mind was ”what would Jory think?”

Jory would tell me I looked good, and that made me happy. It made me feel that maybe, just maybe, I could do this. I could go into that arena, and I could fight. I wouldn’t just fight for him, though. I would be fighting for myself. I was going to be coming home not only because of my love for Jory and for my family, but for my own sake. I was good enough to win. I was good enough to survive.

I deserved to live.

I wasn’t going to die. I was strong.

---

As soon as I was in that glass tube, heading up to the arena, I no longer thought about it being inevitable death. I was now thinking about it being a chance to prove myself. I was going to go in there and prove my strength. I was going to prove that I was worthy. I was going to go in there, and I was no longer going to let my fear of harming another human being stop me. I was worthy of fighting, and worthy of surviving.

---

When I reached the arena, I looked around to see where everything was. I needed to be aware of my surroundings.

As the clock counted down, I took a deep breath in. I needed to focus. I wasn’t just fighting for Jory at this point. Yes, I was fighting for him, but I was also fighting for myself. As the gong went off, I ran.

This was for me, too, now. I could do this.

[Oliver Wren enters the bloodbath]

[Arianna Taylor [D11F] Trib Sit]

Fiona|Intro

Fiona

---

Their faces danced in my dreams last night. Each and every one of them, mom and dad along with my two little sisters and my older brother. They all taunted me with their outstretched arms like they did when they enticed me to go with them into the afterlife the day of the fire. My two little sisters especially because they wanted me to go with them and cover them with my joy. That was the day the joy was stolen from me and my emotions have been rarely seen. Outter appearances are everything to me and if I come across as a complete bitch, then just know that I am more than what my past has done to me.

As I stand here looking to the elevator to hell, I wonder when my end will come. Will my grandfather be waiting for me? Will he be shielding me from the torturous pain that will cease my breathing in that horrible place? My heart flutters with both excitement and fear, but I cannot accept the fate that I am given. I would severely disappoint him if I did. On the other hand, if the moment I step into the arena and death seems to find me I'll welcome him with open arms for I know that my two little sisters will take each hand and walk with me. I can only imagine that they will return my joy.

Live or die, I'm only here to be the vessel for the games.

The timer starts right in front of me and I barely remember stepping into the tube. I don't remember being lifted up or the first thought as I glance around this abandoned parking lot except for the tributes circled around us all.

All it would take is one step early to go ahead and start this games with a bang.

I hesitate.

I watch the numbers decrease.

I look for my partners, my allies and wonder what might be going through their minds. Faux is such a gentle person, he don't deserve to be here. Oliver is younger than me, but so courageous, he is. Carmen is barely even ready for this. And then there was Quest, who is such a special person and I wonder why she had to volunteer, why anyone would volunteer to be here at all.

I sway in the horrible atrocity of this gown. I'm not even sure why I had to be dressed so formal just to die moments in the arena. As long as everyone else has to endure the same torture...

and the timer falls down much faster then I want. And in the blink of an eye, I fall into line along with everyone else.

[Fiona Enters the bloodbath]