thearena | Carnage in the Caves

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Carnage in the Caves

Who| Participants in the bloodbath
What| Murder and mayhem ensue after the jabberjays chase people into the caves.
Where| Deep within the caves. This area of the caves cannot be broken into or escaped from until 24 hours have passed.
When| Over a twenty-four hour period beginning now.
Warnings/Notes| Violence, death, gore, etc. You have been assigned a target to kill, but you may run into other characters in the caves as well.

The jabber jays begin their screaming, driving you deep into the caves in an attempt to escape the cries of your loved ones being tortured, beaten, or killed. When the maddening sounds finally cease, you will find yourself trapped in a series of corridors and caves, sealed tight with no chance for escape. Luckily there are plenty of weapons and supplies at hand (machetes, axes, hunting knifes, swords, maces, spears, clubs, hammers, scythes, bows & arrows, food, water, clean clothes), but any delusions of good fortune are soon squashed when an announcer assigns each person a target and gleefully informs you that you must kill your target within 24 hours or else you will run out of oxygen and die.

Over the next 24 hours, you will be tasked with killing this person in any manner you can. You may also happen upon other unfortunate souls trapped in the caves, but be wary of befriending them down here. They're on a mission too, and there's no rules against collateral damage.

Good luck, and don't forget to put on a show.

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The Psiioniic has been dead. His face was blazed over the sky and the Initiate had turned from it, bitter. It had been just he and Sam, and his patience had gone well and dry for sitting still. He'd found branch and cracked it, spending what time follow with crafting himself as good a peg he could manage to settle on his stump leg. He'd get slivers and all manner of hoofbeastshit, but it would beat getting bored. He'd wrapped it tight around as secure as he could make it.

Then, with muttered apology to a Sam what was already out for the hunt, he started off. He'd abandoned his spear by the shore. Maybe he could still grab it. Come back with a whole ton of fish, and some for Clementine too. He'd not feel so damned useless. He watches the water close, this time certain he won't be fooled. He knows its not Da, just some beast. Why would it have been Da?

Perhaps the same reason this could be Gamzee. The wails sound out in terrible howls, be he knows them, he knows his own voice, he knows his goddamn descendant.

"GAMZEE! Gamzee..."

It's not just him... There's Terezi. Signless. Mituna... His Mituna

"NO!" He shouts. "No, no! STOP IT!" His screams are swallowed by the sky, but he knows Capitol is listening, he fucking knows they know what they're doing.

They win. He heads on deep into the caverns, half-knowing what's sure to happen, but no more able to stop than Sam and the Psiioniic had when they heard him. He's not even surprised when the Caves seal off. Not even when they ask him to cull, and a the sinking feeling grows within him. He can't cull. He can't cull, they made sure he can't cull. So he has to die. With a furious cry, he smashes a fist against the cave wall, then starts off for his doom.

He keeps his teeth bared and his claws spread. At the very least, he's gotta go down with fight in him. His friends wouldn't forgive him otherwise.

"COME OUT, JULIAN!" He snarls into the caves. His voice echos. This might be a long day.

Julian doesn’t stop even stop to consider that the birds may be a trick, only considers them as yet another thing the Capitol has sent to torture them. The moment they start to scream, echoing familiar voices, all Julian can think about is how he wants to get away from them. There’s only two dying voices that Julian recognizes from back home. It would only take two people for Julian to have nothing to go back to, and even if he knows it’s not real, that it can’t be, the more he hears the jabberjays the more it feels like it is. The more it feels like the only two people who actually cared about him are going to be taken away. And it’s that fear that gets Julian running, willing to go anywhere to escape it, and he goes exactly where the jabberjays herd him to.

It’s not until he gets deeper into the caves and he can think more clearly that he realizes there has to be something more to this, and it’s then that the Caves shut off, an announcement that he’s been assigned someone to kill. Kill or die. Julian’s not liking his choices here, and he wishes, a new sort of fear settling in his gut, that he had braved the birds instead. It’s not like Julian even knows how to kill someone. He doesn’t even know how to do his own laundry, how is he supposed to kill someone? He desperately tries to remember everything that Sam taught him about self defense, picks up the first two weapons he finds, and wanders around the cave with a machete in one hand and an axe in the other.

Julian doesn’t even know who he’s supposed to be looking out for, has no idea who Initiate even is, but pretty soon he hears his name being called out. The way it’s snarled out isn’t exactly reassuring, but after a moment of deliberation Julian hesitantly follows it until he’s close enough to see Initiate. And of course this is who the gamemakers decided to assign him to, someone with teeth and claws who looks to Julian like he could take him out with one hit. Julian curses under his breath, and instinctively jerks his weapons in front of him like some sort of makeshift shield. The only comfort Julian has is the peg he sees, but even that’s not much.

“You’re Initiate?” It’s more of a rhetorical question. As much as Julian wishes this was some sort of mistake, that there’s maybe another Julian he doesn’t know about, it seems highly unlikely. Julian shuffles a little bit back and then takes a few steps forward, unsure of what to do. Killing someone, even attempting to, is one of the last things Julian wants to do and the idea of it already leaves him feeling sick, but if it’s that or die it may be the only option.

Edited 2015-03-02 03:32 (UTC)

The kid looks his age, maybe even a bit older. It doesn't matter. Motherfucker's a kid, taking amateur steps, making moves uncertain and all too open to slaughter, like a pleading sign. One, two, twist, and he could pop off this nug right here. Theoretically. He could theoretically do a lot of motherfucking things up in this.

He ain't got his voodoo here, but he knows fear well enough to spot it. He doesn't try to make it ease. He keeps his claws curved. The easiest kills were ones what got happenstance by shit unavoidable. No one mourned a beast. This Julian wouldn't know how truly lucky he was. He could've rained gore over this cavern, were things different.

"S'right," He growls. He's got people to fool. Not the Capitol, but Terezi, Signless. If it weren't for them, he could show this brother how to slit throat his ownself. But with Terezi and Signless watching, that wasn't going to happen as for possibility.

There's blood run down his arm, left by that daywalker. It's not so bad he can't focus, but he has to wonder if he shouldn't have just let that thing kill him. Brother before him's grabbed weapon heavy. This was going to hurt.

"SEEMS CAPITOL GOT WANTING AT US TO MOTHERFUCKING DANCE. So let's dance, Julian!" He lunges forward, going for first swipe. Duck, he thinks.

There’s a brief moment where Julian wonders what the blood is from, but for the most part his attention is still on the claws, watching them carefully. Bitterly, and not for the first time, Julian wishes his abilities weren’t gone this Arena. He’s not sure how much help they would have been, but maybe if he had them he wouldn’t feel quite so defenseless, even with the weapons he’s holding.

He’s so focused on the claws that when he sees the swipe coming he’s able to react quick enough to try and dodge out of the way, but he’s still not quite fast enough. The claws hit his shoulder, leaving gashes that make Julian yell, more out of alarm than in pain. The actual pain from the wounds seem to be dulled, and he’s sure they’ll hurt more if he manages to survive, but right now the rising panic he feels outweighs anything else. He wants to run, but there’s nowhere to run to.

And it’s that panic that has Julian swinging the axe at Initiate with one arm, and then stabbing at him with the machete with the other. There’s no skill to his movements, none whatsoever, and it’s clear Julian’s just swinging wildly and hoping for the best.

His claws rake, drawing blood, and several things stir in him at once. The whispers that he hurt a Tribute, disobeyed-- he had to. The other's not so much a voice as it is old thirst. He doesn't want neither. Fuck.

He doesn't let his own wince show on his face at least.

Put on a show. Let him believe in the monster, just without being it. He puts on a smile wide, full of teeth, letting growls roll over his breath. He lets those red-tipped claws gleam in what little light there is.

Then the attacks start and he's ducking fast, keeping out of the way. His allies will be watching and they need to believe he's trying. He lets the machete scrape along his arm, bleeding him indigo as he pushes it away, old half-masochistic means of taking injury for getting a shot. He reaches out to scratch once more, twice, without truly trying to hit.

Then he moves back. The axe is coming for him. One of them should live. He has to die.

He barely manages to brace as the axe sinks into his chest. The pain of it stuns him for a moment, mouth agape.

Edited 2015-03-19 05:53 (UTC)

Julian’s terrified of Initiate. The smile and growls, on top of everything else, have made sure of that. It’s still not enough for Julian to completely think he’s a monster. Maybe if Julian had more injuries, was closer to ending up dead, then he could have believed it. Could have used it to help himself feel better about what happens next.

The axe sinks in, and Julian barely even registers it at first, staring at where it meets Initiate’s chest before he realizes what’s happened and the horror sets in.

“Why didn’t… you...” Move out of the way? Julian saw how quickly he ducked away from some of the swings. There’s no way he couldn’t have dodged the axe, too. It all seems like it ended too easily, and now that Julian’s stopped his panic fueled attacks it dawns on him how little Initiate fought back, apart from the few scratches. Julian can’t manage to finish the question though, and he isn’t sure Initiate would even be able to answer. What with the axe that’s still in his chest.

“Shit.” He’d attacked out of fear, but he never expected his attacks to actually work. Julian pulls out the axe and lets go of the weapons, shaking, and then steps back until he’s pressed up against the wall. He can’t do anything but stare at Initiate, guilt now mixed with the fear.

The axe going in was not entirely blinding pain. He's been impaled before. He cut off his own leg. But it doesn't feel no kind of good and it's pulling out doesn't feel no better. He gasps, and the indigo spills from him, from between the cracked bones. He hits the opposing wall and waits for it to be finished, but it's not. Of course.

He had a feeling the kid wasn't a killer. His words prove it. He should focus on that, distract himself from the pain.

He struggles, trying to force himself to stand despite it. He holds one hand up, just before his wound. He coughs and winces and keeps up a growl. He tries lashing out with the other hand but moving it feels like no uncertain hell, especially with the bite.

He brings head up to look at Julian, pain causing a grimace upon him. "WELL?" He says. "The fuck you waiting for?" It could be to kill him, but he's good as dead and the kid doesn't want that weight anyway. "GO!" He snarls. "Get the fuck out of here before your ass gets culled anyway!" Not by him. By the gamemakers. Nevertheless.

He takes a hobbling step forward.

Edited 2015-03-21 00:26 (UTC)

Julian’s never seen this much blood in his life. Even if it’s a different color, it’s no less revolting to Julian as he sees it spill out. He doesn’t want to see it anymore, or continue to watch Initiate struggle; it only makes him feel even guiltier, but he still can’t bring himself to move.

After his first Arena he’d tried so hard to convince himself that the Capitol couldn’t make him kill anyone. So much for that. Julian may not be able to make the final blow, but he’s fairly certain that Initiate isn’t going to be able to survive the wound.

Initiate’s words finally bring Julian out of his daze, flinching as Initiate snarls. He knows he should leave. There’s no reason to stay other than to finish Initiate off or to wait for him to die. Julian doesn’t want to do either, and he doesn’t want to stick around and risk getting killed himself.

When Initiate takes a step forward, Julian pushes himself off the wall, backs away in the opposite direction, and once he gets far enough away he turns to run off down another corridor. The only thing he cares about now is getting some supplies, and getting out of here as soon as possible.

It feels like he's had blood on his hands forever. He doesn't remember not having that weight. But he does know it must be one. He feels that now at least.

Some could make it through these games without no cull. That took either dying early or just being so fucking lucky. It'll be hard, if what he's learned is any motherfucking indication, but it'll be figured out. It's survivable, taking a life.

He just hoped it was more a borrowing deal, and not proper taking. He needs to come back from this. Julian flees and he sighs with some relief, the shell off the monster being shucked off like armor. Only for him to grunt and shudder in pain. It's not the worst he's had, he reminds himself, but like fuck does that make it bearable. This is new, in some sense. He's never done this shit up on purpose. He's never gotten the opportunity to die a little more slow.

He doesn't want to go right here though. It's not his style to just stop, even with what he's let to be done. Maybe he can find somewhere nice in here, somewhere he can rest. He hasn't saved no one here and now, but he's stopped one death from being by his hands. Even if it forces weight on Julian anyway, he can't help feeling pleased by that. He finally fucking did it.

That alone might carry him the rest of the way he needs to drag himself, before he collapses.

In the end, it had been the yelling that attracted him. The sound had called him from the shadows like a dog heeding its master's call.

Conscious thought had died along with Rick himself. When he'd come back, it had been only the most base, primal urge that stuck with him; it was that deep-seated needthat drove his corpse back to its feet, breathing unnatural life back into stiff limbs. Morality, self-preservation, love, anger... None of it mattered anymore.

He just needed to eat.

It was the only thing his blank, inhuman mind was capable of processing anymore. He no longer noticed the seeping, ragged wound that had finished him off, pain having gone along with other useless feelings.

Until he'd heard the first of the Initiate's screaming, he'd been aimlessly wandering the maze of tunnels, flesh greyed and gait clumsy. There was nothing stealthy about his approach, his growl echoing off the cavern walls as he drew nearer, hunger building as he caught the scent of living flesh.

Maybe he'd have been more silent if he hadn't been looking to die. He was throwing safety to the wind what didn't blow here, just let everything to drop. Along with his sense of self preservation.

Maybe it was all the walking on his peg-leg fresh, combining with hearing Gamzee and all every motherfucker else. Maybe he just got on being stupid.

Either way, he hears the growl. Would be hard not to. His ears flick on back to it and he goes very still.

He's not met Julian. All assumed him human. Assumed him frailer and weaker, lacking the killer's instinct as trolls were to do for having-- even if he had the skill. But humans don't growl like that which means something inhuman. Could even mean something untrollish.

He was going to die. Still, he kinda hoped a mauling wasn't up on menu. He growls on back, but doesn't turn just yet. Maybe this Julian had claws enough to lop off his head, make it easy.

Had he been living, the growl might have fazed him. Alerted him, given him pause - something more than acting as a homing beacon, drawing him closer.

Unfortunately, he couldn't be afraid anymore. No amount of violence or display could cow him, the spark that had once been Rick Grimes already bled out and gone. Jenner had once shown them just how it worked, the neuropaths going dark at the moment of death and staying that way, even as the baser parts kicked back. Now, he was an empty husk, desperate to fill that void in the most visceral, literal way.

He snarled his response, blood oozing from the corner of his slack lips, sticky and thick in his beard. He'd spotted his prey then, only vaguely registering that he was approaching from behind as he lurched forward - it only mattered insofar as what he could most quickly grab, the back a broad but hard to grasp target. Even with a few feet still separating them, his hand was already outstretched, stiff-jointed fingers clawing at the air with single-minded anticipation.

He can't help the nervousness rising. It doesn't show, not on no camera, but only because he's been swimming in the holy fear since his hatching, all trained to keep it away is he. But is he feeling it? Fuck yeah he is.

His hands open and close on air, wanting and wishing for clubs. He has to remind himself, he has to die here.

The answering snarl sets off some primal thing in him, shuts down the bits what is more concious. His blood is too cold for his breath to show, but were he human, he's sure it would. Don't forget to put on a show.

Hard to remember when he feels fingers against his back. He turns, and those arms are around him like the goddamn cullmistress come to embrace and it takes him a second to realise that even if this is Julian, this is motherfucking is way damn dead and so it can't.

This isn't Julian. This is a motherfucking Daywalker. His breath comes sharp and he's got just enough time to regret forcing himself out of attack readiness.

He may not have felt the wounds, allowing him stamina well beyond most and uninhibited by the pain that should have wracked his ruined body, but he wasn't fast. Rigor mortis was enough to give others at least a slight advantage - but once he had a hold of something, he wasn't going to be quick to let it go. The minute his fingertips connect with something solid, whatever lingering vestiges of control were stripped away; he was little more than a frenzied animal, clawing and snarling, trying to scrape away at flesh and get a firmer hold. He'd caught something now, something living, something he could eat-

It doesn't matter where he hits, only that blood is drawn, and he snapped his jaws viciously at whatever was within reach. With any luck, he'd be able to get a decent chunk out of his prey, a sick gurgle issuing from his blood-choked throat.

Teeth sink into his arm, blunt teeth making a bruise like pressure before the skin manages at all to tear. It's no slow-motion scene but he feels his reaction come all too motherfucking slow in the wake of it. The indigo bubbles up and spills over around the daywalker's mouth and down his arm.

He jerks back with a cry. Or tries to, rather. He feels the pump of his pusher wasting its efforts on his arm, feeding this fucker more and costing him. No. No, no, being eaten is not how he wanted to go it's not how he wants to die.

He claws at Rick, less to hurt and more to kick his fighting instincts back into drive.

The oddly-hued blood is not what he would have expected, not that it does anything to deter him. It's hot, it's living, and the rest doesn't matter. In truth, he doesn't have the mental capacity necessary to taste it anymore, the colour little more than meaningless sensory data. Feeding was the priority, the only thing left, and be it animal, alien, or human - meat was meat.

The movement ripped another snarl from his mangled throat, which might have been mistaken for annoyed had he been capable of such things. Instead, it only served to make him clamp down like a dog wrestling for a bone, struggling to keep his grip against the pull - All he managed was to tear away the chunk of flesh, indigo blood flowing freely down his beard, mingling with the thick trails of crimson.

The force of the movement was enough to knock him off balance, and he swayed in an attempt to regain his fragile sense of equilibrium; that in itself proved more effective than the scratching had, the cuts barely fazing him.

Hot? Not so much. His blood was cool as a corpse-- fittingly. Living though, yeah, that was something he was and really, at this moment, wanted to motherfucking stay. There's nothing quite like seeing one's own blood flow between another's teeth, but he's never quite had a close up show like this.

His flesh is torn off in a great chunk. It's the price of his freedom but fuck if it don't pull from him another cry. He can take a lot of pain. It don't mean it hurts less or that he can make on being more silent for it. That's not a bit of his old avoxing as what he managed to keep.

But at least with pain he can think. The daywalkers off-balance. He lifts a foot high to kick the motherfucker back, and then while that stumbling's going up and on, he spins in a proper round-housing at the nugbone.

It wasn't close to enough. It never would be, and he'd barely swallowed before he was searching for more, teeth bared, egged on by the noise the other had made.

The blow hit him hard, forcing him back another few unsteady steps, his blanched hands scrabbling at the air for purchase, more concerned with keeping his meal than actually saving himself. The cave wall was the only reason he didn't wind up on the ground, and he was left reeling for a good long moment - Enough for the other to land a solid kick to his face, snapping his head back with the momentum. His knees gave this time, and he crumpled to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs, growling as he tried clumsily to extricate himself.

His training is back into recollection. It's the only thing what keeps him from pausing and staring. He feels no shame in turning tail, it's simply what needs to be done.

With one hand gripping his bitten arm, he runs onward. It's a throbbing and stinging pain both, a whole chunk of his arm gone out, flesh torn like putty. But again he reminds himself; he's been hurt worse.

He finds it effecting him a lot more than it should, in light of that. It gets harder to focus. It gets harder to keep on. He has to. Julian has to kill him or they might both just die. The least he can do is offer a chance to live.

And with that ill curling up inside him, he knows for certain now it won't be him.

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Carnage in the Caves

For Zombie-Rick and Julian!

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sorry about the lateness!

no worries!! <3

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Sorry I'm late!

Sorry about being even later ; w ;

It's all good. :'>

Re: It's all good. :'>

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