when the party's over [TLC; day 1]

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

You couldn’t run fast enough.

You didn’t even have to call out to the people that you knew were in your corner either. An axe to the side, a cut to the head, you knew it was time to run. You didn’t want to die.

It hurt. It would hurt for a while, you knew that much, but you would get over it. You had to be strong for the people that were with you now. Milo, Ridley, and especially Delaney, who had been smart enough to get out as soon as she got her weapon. You should have followed her, but you thought you chances were good. Maybe you could hold out just a little longer and then claim the rest of the wealth.

Maybe you could have stuck your sword through someones neck, or sliced off a limb, or even just cut deeper than you did. However, that didn’t happen. You laid a simple slice on the boy that kept trying to punch you in the face, and you knew you could do better.

Oh well, you were on the run now.

---

You stopped to catch your breath and then you realized that there were abandoned buildings around you. You weren’t sure where Ridley or Delaney or Milo were, but you had a feeling that they were close by. The amount of blood that was coming from your head and side were nothing to bat an eyelash at, but you didn’t let it bother you.

You simply wiped it out of your line of vision. You could smell nothing but copper, and it was starting to become nauseating, but after a couple deep breaths, you locate a troth of water and begin to cup your hands around the liquid and pour it all over your wounds. The blood begins to wash away, and you quickly begin to apply the first aid that you were taught in the capitol. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to at least keep you at bay.

It stung, but being in this arena was what was going to kill you, so you might as well get used to it.

---

The cold air hit you strong, and you quickly pulled the sweater out of your bag and threw it on over the clothes you had been wearing. You actually were happy that you had grabbed such a trivial item, because at the end of the day, hypothermia wasn’t cute, and while it wasn’t that cold, when you were bleeding, everything felt even more intense.

You realized that Delaney, Ridely, and Milo were not that far behind you. ”Guys, over here. Theres water and somewhere to hunker down.” you say as you point towards one of the buildings.

You close proximity with them and look at Delaney with a small smile before looking at the rest of them. ”Thank ripred we made it out of there.” You didn’t add that you were worried for a second, because you remember who you are allying with. All of them with kind countenances but serious exteriors.

You fit in so well with them. Your head rests on Delaney’s shoulder as you try to figure out what you all will do next. That is until you hear a beeping sound echo through the scenery. You look up to see a parachute falling directly above you and you grab it before it even gets to eye level.

The note read, ”You sure took a beating, you left this behind.” When you opened it, a wooden flute had been placed neatly in the container. You pulled it out and simply shrugged at it. ”Why do I feel like this is an omen?” You said matter of fact-ly. The feeling of it in your hands felt awkward, but there was always a reason for things to happen, and you had a feeling that this was one of those things. So you placed the flute into your bag and returned you head to Delaney’s shoulder. ”So, whats next guys.” you are quick and brash and all types of whimsy. Sure, you were scraped up and scarred, but that did not stop you, it would not stop you.

You had one thing you needed to do here.

Survive.

Charisma applies first aid
receives a flute from a RE
and other stuff to come in maint!

[goat]

Delaney had found two of her allies as they fled the bloodbath. None of them seemed to be banged up too badly, and Delaney was almost upset, finding herself wishing that a few more people had tried to get hits in on her. Maybe that just meant they were afraid of her. She wasn’t sure if it even mattered.

As they approached what seemed to be an abandoned town, she realized that Charisma had beaten them to it. She turned around, all curly blonde hair and dark eyes, and gestured toward one of the buildings. “Guys, over here,” she said, as Delaney got closer. “Theres water and somewhere to hunker down.”

There was something about the town that made Delaney’s skin crawl. It may have been the manufactured abandonment, or the way it felt like something was watching their every move. She hoped they didn’t stick around there for too long.

“Thank ripred we made it out of there,” Charisma said, and Delaney laughed and shook her head. “Ripred had nothing to do with it. That was all us, baby.”

Charisma laid her head on Delaney’s shoulder, and she tried to ignore the way her heartbeat quickened. This was a bad, bad thing for her to be feeling. She liked the way it felt, though, just like she liked the way Charisma’s lips felt on hers.

“So, whats next guys.”

“Easy.” Delaney glanced between Milo and Ridley. “We find another tribute and kill them. The less people that are alive, the better our chances of survival are.”

She said our instead of my because it sounded less selfish, but she could not help how selfish of a being she was. She wanted to get out of the arena, and she would kill to do it. Everyone else there would do the same, so there was no point in pretending she wouldn’t, but she could not bring herself to be cruel to her allies. They were human, just like her, and they had proven themselves to be worthy companions way back in the training center.

She already knew she was going to miss them when they died.

“But maybe we should scavenge around before that. See if we can find anything useful.”


[ delaney collects items that will be in trib maint ty ]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

He as sweating, like not in a cute way. Sweat soaked into his shirt, his cape, the ridiculous pantaloons. Every time he thought Charisma might stop, she only paused and then pressed on. She was just a little too far ahead for him to flag her down and beg for mercy. Truth be told, he admired her stamina. She had taken the brunt of the attacks. He wasn't sure why that was, except that she had become the defacto leader of their little alliance. Maybe that was enough to make her a target.

By the time she ducked into a structure - a home? a quaint shop? - he was gasping for breath. The girls preceded them inside. He listened to the comforting cadence of their voices as he dropped Curtus onto the ground and then collapsed beside him, trying to bury his face in the light dusting of snow.

His reprieve only lasted a few seconds. It sounded like plans were being made and he wasn't one to sit by idly. "Wait here," he directed Curtus and finally joined his allies in the shelter. He leaned against a doorway, debating whether or not he should offer to help Charisma patch up, when Delaney spoke: "we find another tribute and kill them. The less people that are alive, the better our chances of survival are.”

"Speaking of that," he interjected, holding up a hand. He ducked back outside, slipped an arm around Curtus, and escorted him. "I've got another tribute. Oh, but not like that. I don't want to kill him. I already kind of broke his leg. Sorry again about that." He grinned at Curtus before setting him down beside the fireplace. "Do you guys think this thing works? Fire's supposed to good for the soul, right? Assuming we don't burn the whole place down."

[Milo loots a ridiculous amount of stuff from the Town.]

[Kire]

Curtus Dolor
Keep me numb, I'll follow direction
A pawn to pass around and be bled until I'm dry

The shoulder under his arm was solid, and the pace they were making was perhaps a little too fast for his one useful leg. He slipped and stumbled as he tried to hop along, doing his best not to bounce the foot of his injured leg on the ground and send shooting pain up through his hip. Out of breath from the combined effort of the pace and the endless ache, he focused simply on moving forward and gave his helper little thought. Foolish, really, to give such trust and freedom to someone who could so easily use it and kill him. Still, if his rescuer had wanted to kill him they would only have had to leave him where he was. That fact was the only thing keeping him from trying to make it on his own - that and the way his head was swimming.

When it felt like he couldn't go any farther they finally stopped. His aid-giver guided him to the ground outside of a simple building. The descent was anything but graceful, yet he managed to keep from bashing his injured leg any further and the snow against his body - particularly his raw, swollen leg - sent a spiral of relief through him. The cold also helped to snap him somewhat out of the fog and allow him to finally take a look at the face of the person who had helped him. Or it would have, were the guy's face not buried in the snow.

Huffing slightly in exasperation, he was just about to reach out and poke the guy to see if he was still alive - or even mentally sound - when the figure popped up at the sounds of a discussion within the structure. He narrowed his eyes to try and bring the face into clarity and see if he could bring a name to mind. He didn't have to try too hard to see as the other boy brought his face closer to give him one last look. "Wait here." It wasn't as though he had much choice, but it did give him time to try and figure out where he was and who he was with.

As the boy walked into the doorway of the building he was beginning to feel the itch of recognition crawl over him. He tried to pick out the sound of voices and made out at least one female before the boy interrupted. "Speaking of that," he lifted a hand then turned back outside and reached down to him. Wary, with small prickles of fear making the hair on his arms stand up and his throat close, he let the boy help him up and guide him inside. "I've got another tribute." Curtus felt his muscles lock up. Maybe he hadn't been right about this boy after all. Maybe they would kill him, and make it into a sick game - as if it wasn't enough already.

As if reading his thoughts, and maybe those of the girls - there were two of them - he quickly continued. "Oh, but not like that. I don't want to kill him. I already kind of broke his leg. Sorry again about that." Once again Curt experienced a flash of emotion. This time it was a mix of recognition, fear, and anger. The brief memory of a face in the churning chaos of the bloodbath, followed - or maybe preceded - by the loud crack and the white hot pain of his leg breaking. This was him, this was the guy that had broken his leg, and he had just admitted it to his face.

If this boy wasn't the only thing keeping him upright at the moment he would have pulled away. Was he a pawn then, maybe this was all some sort of sick game anyway? Was this guy just toying with him like a cat with a bird? If only he actually did have wings - or at least two working legs - so that he could get out of here. The boy - he was trying to draw forth a name but his brain was struggling more with what this all meant that who was even here - sat him down a little abruptly in front of a fireplace and grinned somewhat sheepishly at him and at his two companions. "Do you guys think this thing works? Fire's supposed to good for the soul, right? Assuming we don't burn the whole place down."

Trying to let his mind catch up, Curt just stared at the guy like he had lost his mind. The casual dropping of the fact that he had broken Curt's leg that then was followed by a very abrupt change in conversation left his head spinning. Was this guy trying to throw him off of his guard? Who the hell was he anyway? Finally he took a real look at the two girls and finally could place a name to one of them. Charisma. His own district partner was here, allied to the boy who had broken his leg and then offered him assistance in nearly the same minute. What was going on here?

He looked around at the three faces above him, trying to figure out what he should do. Essentially trapped by his bad leg, he would have to hope they weren't going to kill him. May as well try to seem friendly. "Uh, hi, Charisma." He looked at his district partner for a moment, trying to read her face but knowing he was never good at that. Finally he couldn't keep the question back any longer, he turned to the boy and the other girl. "Who the fuck are you?"

[Curt loots the town and patches himself up]

^{lyrics from Vultures by Asking Alexandria}

[Stare]

They made the choice to haunt an already-dead town.

Ridley let her fingers drift over the pain in her side, cautious footsteps seeming as loud as gunshots as the crunch of her shoes in the snow echoed off frosted windows and doorless thresholds. The stillness unnerved her to the point that even the cloud of her breath felt like an intrusion. She didn’t mind silence, but what lingered between spaces of neglect and abandonment was something different entirely. It ached of something not unlike guilt and a haunting familiarity.

But perhaps it was apt. The apathetic surroundings were a dim reminder that the world would continue on long after she and her fellow tributes were gone. They might care for objects, for places, for the world, but the world did not care about them. Not enough to keep them out of the Arena. Not enough to remember them after they’d been mourned. And that was what Ridley had realized long before the was reaped. The worst thing about the Arena was not the sickening display of it or the many beautiful traps and animals designed to slaughter them in the most gruesome way possible, but the fact that the only familiar faces were ones that would soon be gone.

Ridley had entered into a world of ghosts, but it wasn’t the condemned souls that put her on edge. It was the fact that she couldn’t yet tell if she was one of them.

Taking shelter didn’t put her any more at ease. The Bloodbath had ignited a new note of fear in Ridley, though she wouldn’t let anyone see it. There was an element to it that she hadn’t been expecting, an underlying current of desperation and self-hatred that felt more raw than it had ever looked through the shielding lens of a television screen. She saw now, more than before, the cruelty of the Games. The Capitol wasn’t asking them to lay down their lives but to corrupt their very souls, entering into a fight motivated by nothing more than their own self-preservation. And that was what made the Capitol powerful. Not their ability to demand lives, but their blatant manipulation of hope and fear. Because when they were selling their souls instead of their lives, the oppression was harder to recognize. Easier to mistake for mercy.

Of course, the joke was on them. The twin scars on her back were evidence that Ridley had already sold her soul, and she would be more than willing to do it again.

She hummed thoughtfully at Delaney’s words, already beginning to piece together the best plan for hunting down competition. Her time with her allies was limited - sooner or later, they would have to turn on each other - but in the meantime it was best to take advantage of their strength in numbers.

The sound of a figure in the doorway instantly had her in action, whirling around and lifting her sabre despite the way her side shrieked in protest. What she saw made her glare at her ally and his companion incredulously. “Milo, you have got to be joking.” The Gamemakers would have their heads for sheltering a lone tribute rather than murdering them on sight. She was tempted to lunge at him anyway, but Milo’s expression made her falter and she cursed under her breath. Damn him and his stupid heart.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Ridley narrowed her eyes and raised her saber an inch. “Apparently, the idiots who aren’t going to kill you. For now.” She shot Milo a look before settling her gaze back on the stranger. “Does anything else really matter?”

They were all just ghosts in the ghost town.

Except, of course, for the one of them who wasn’t.

[Ridley also loots the town]