OTA thread for disease, sickness and confusion on Friday Night

[ruffntumblenut]

Who: Anyone in the arena
Where: Across the Arena
When: 8:00 P.M sharp Friday Night
What: Random symptoms cropping up all over the arena?
Warnings: Sick People, probably some violence, message me if any warnings should be added.
Notes:  This is just a general catch-all so you don't have to be tagging Ruffnut. Just put where your character is in the subject line.

In the arena there was a feeling of isolation even though you knew that invisibly, hundreds upon thousands, maybe even millions of people were watching you eat, sleep, fight, suffer, cry and eventually die. So of course there's no way the tributes could know that what took place that evening wasn't just a Gamemaker trick meant to make things harder for them.

The symptoms didn't even wash across the arena like a wave traveling from one end to the other. Instead, spontaneously and apropros of nothing in particular every single tribute was suddenly struck with a sign of illness or malady. 

Was this another challenge of some sort like the bells in the belfry or the roses in the forest? What if anything could be done to cure the tributes of their individual troubles?

If nothing else, it would make for some compelling footage to watch on television come the morning.

Comments

Ruffnut Thorston // The Castle

[ruffntumblenut]

Ruffnut had been sleeping peacefully under one of the moth eaten beds, wrapped in two sleeping bags and surrounded by gifts from her sponsors when suddenly, without warning...

"AAAAGGH!!!"

Sitting up bolt upright she slammed her head into the wooden frame of the bed and let out another more muted cry of pain falling back to the cool stone floor under her. Another jolt of pain had her howling in pain and wriggling desperately out from under the bed.

Her screams of suffering echoed in the halls of the castle, magnified by their stone walls and arched ceilings. By the time she'd extracted herself from the sleeping bags she had tears running down her cheeks and she didn't dare move for fear another bolt of pain would slice through her nerves like a knife.

And then it did anyway and she fell to her knees screeching again like a cat that had been set on fire. The burn wounds along her scalp where blond hair was growing back in patchily were throbbing and pulsing with pain as the blood rushed to her face and she looked around the room in a mix of anger and fear.

"WHOEVER'S DOING THAT, CUT IT OUT!" She bellowed before another jolt of pain knocked her over onto her side curling up in a ball.

oops Nux is sick because he's a special grade of dumbass

[shiny_and_chrome]

In retrospect, maybe drinking that quiet guy's blood wasn't such a hot idea. Well, they can't all be, really, but that seems especially bad, in retrospect.

He'd just dropped into something kind of like sleep when he heard the screaming. Which went through his head pretty much like Buzzard darts. He stumbles to where the noise is loudest, because he's smart like that, stopping halfway down the corridor because echoes. Ouch. "WHO ARE YOU YELLING AT?!"

Well and being an offworlder doesn't help matters.

[ruffntumblenut]

Oh it's...that guy. Knee? Knuckles? Even with the echoing of the hallway she could make out his voice and for some reason it really pissed her off! Maybe it was the pain?

"Whoever is hurting me!!!" She fired back and then cried out in pain once again wrapping her arms around herself and falling to her knees trembling from the feeling of hot knives slicing through her nerves.

This was almost worst then the torture they'd put her through in Capitol Prison...almost.

Nothing can help Nux

[shiny_and_chrome]

Nah, it's probably that Nux has that reaction on people. His own Lancer and he were best buds and they insulted each other ALL THE TIME.

It was affectionate! Totally!

...wasn't it?

"It's not me!" It's sure not Nux, because he's suddenly leaning against the wall, trying not to fall over. Right now, a mouse would have nothing to fear from him.

Re: Nothing can help Nux

[ruffntumblenut]

"Y-yeah well I...ARRGH!!!" flopping over on her side in the fetal position she trembled and groaned clenching her jaw tight.

"I ever find out who's doing this to me, I'm gonna beat their brains in!" She cursed through every clenched up muscle in her body.

"Thor Almighty it's in my bones!"

[shiny_and_chrome]

Right, Nux. Right. You can do this.

Girl. In pain. You got this.

"Just, you know, try to calm down. Maybe it'll pass. Mine always does."

[ruffntumblenut]

"Y-you think? Maybe you're ri-IIIIIAGH!!!!!" Her hopes were dashed the space of a sentence as another bolt of lightning surged through her muscles making them twitch wildly causing her pain as though every action was slicing her apart on the inside.

"A-any minute now it'll go away...ARRGH!" She managed to choke out another sentence before another wave hit her and she was biting her lower lip to keep from further startled howling,

[shiny_and_chrome]

All right, Nux, your keen advice doesn't seem to be working. Time for, well, PANIC MODE.

"What would help? I could open the windows? Or close them? Cold bath?" He could use a little help in the 'self care' ideas area. Not really his forte. .

[ruffntumblenut]

At least his choices in medical care seemed to match up with as much as Ruffnut knew about it. Still she had something better. She just had to get over the last option.

"Where would you even find a bathtub around heeeARRRRRGH!" She cursed a few viking swears that translated rather rudely through the chips in their brains before she pointed a long finger at one of her sleeping bags containing all her loot.

"First aid Kit!" She panted desperately.

[shiny_and_chrome]

"I don't know!" Seriously, stop injecting reality into this crisis situation! "I'll find one." He has faith.

But...maybe a first aid kit is a better option. Right. Because it seems to actually exist. Hopefully she's okay with a War Boy tearing through her stuff.

There better not be, like, girl stuff in here!

Aang | The Castle | OTA

[actually112]

Aang wakes up on the hallway floor. That's weird because the last thing he remembers is playing in the rafters.

He tries to push himself onto his hands and knees, but his limbs are shaking. He can feel a bruise forming on his side (luckily, the opposite side from the arm that was attacked by bats, which is healing okay) from where he fell from the ceiling and his temple has been cut open by the impact. He can feel blood trickling down the side of his face, but it feels far away.

Then there's a sudden, horrible pain in his back, right at his scar, like someone is shocking him again. He snaps backward, curling up, his mouth opening to scream but nothing coming out as all his muscles tense up.

And then it's gone. He grabs hold of the nearest table with a vase on it to pull himself up. He needs to get back to his group. They have doctors, they will help him.

He staggers forward, hoping that no one dangerous comes his way now.

Phil Gray | The Village | OTA

[voiceinthephone]

Surviving the weeks in the Arena, bats included have not been easy but Phillip thought he was in good health...right up until he was struck with the symptoms out of the blue as he was setting up camp in one of the cottages. With a new supply from the sponsors, he was doing his best to keep District 6 in the competition, keeping safe and fed any remaining children and allies he ran into.

It felt like his body suddenly shut down in a single lighting strike, collapsing where he stood. He couldn't breathe...and then the shocks come along. Every pang would get a scream, not unlike the ones he let out when he thought he saw Bonnie. These were miserable, tortured sounds that came out of the Phone Guy's mouth. As soon as the seizures ended, Gray got up and grabbed his stuff. He had to find Daryl, and Firo, he had to get help.

[fivefingereddiscount]

Garrett isn't too far away, but he's currently experiencing his own problems. Fighting the sudden onset of nausea, he staggers to his feet and heads toward the source of the screaming with all the grace and stealth of a drunk ox. He recognized that scream; at least, he thinks he does. It sounds like someone friendly, anyway, and defending a possible ally had to count for something.

And so he stumbles to the village, sweating and fighting the urge to vomit. It takes him a few minutes, but he does find Phil looking like he'd just been through the wringer.

"Phil...? You okay?"

[voiceinthephone]

There were so many things going on with Phil's body, his tolerance to the shocks had knocked the wind out of him. His voice was hoarse, as if the illness disabled his voice with all the screams. He knows he could have brought any opportunistic Tribute, but least Garrett didn't have his weapon.

"N-No...I still feel everything, I feel every organ in me." But he disregards his own safety and offers the man a place to lie down, "You don't look that good either, l-lay down." He needed a purpose to focus on anything.

Daryl Dixon | Forest | Closed to Rick

[weaintashes]

Pickings were becoming slim as the weeks wore on, but that only made Daryl redouble his snaring and hunting efforts. Where previously he'd done what he could to steer well clear of the giant wolves lurking in the woods, deeming them not worth the risk and warding any of the glowing-eyed monsters away from camp, the situation had changed once he, Rick, and Phillip had fashioned some functional spears. For better or worse, wolves were then on the menu. The risk remained very high, particularly with the spreading plague turning even the most minor injuries into ticking time bombs, but even a single wolf provided a veritable feast for their camp, and the bones and fur had their uses as well. Very little was wasted.

The golden light of dusk filtered through the branches in beams as the shadows of evening grew longer, creeping along the forest floor like living things. They were steadily losing the light and would need to turn back for camp soon, but Daryl was reluctant to give up just yet, empty-handed as they were.

He wasn't keen on dipping into their rations unless it was absolutely necessary, at least for himself — Rick, Vivi, and Phillip were encouraged to eat their fill. He knew of Nick's untimely death because of the supplies he'd been sending, but the current status of the rest of Nick's group had become less clear, and he hoped to also be able to send another generous bundle of meat and supplies their way with the next successful kill, with or without receiving foraged food in return this time.

Keyword: successful.

Maybe luck would be kinder to them tomorrow.

Before he could turn and signal Rick closer to share these thoughts, a wave of nausea washed over him, accompanied by spikes of pain throughout his body so intense they knocked the breath from him, and he was brought to his knees a moment later. He bore the agony in characteristic silence until a strangled, involuntary groan escaped, and he weakly attempted to back up, thinking he might have mistakenly triggered some environmental hazard. And that could mean — Rick — his thoughts were a jumble of panicked urgency as he clutched his stomach and scrambled to move on his hands and knees. With great effort he regained his feet, then continued stumbling toward where he'd last seen Rick, a fear as crippling as the pain driving him on.

What was happening?

[rictator]

Rick felt it was safe to say that his diet had... evolved since the world had ended. Things he never could have imagined himself eating had become staples, ranging from years old canned spam to roasted squirrel meat. Where cold ravioli had once been a last minute improvisation, saved for those nights he'd wiled away the late hours hiding at the station, it was now a rare delicacy. But, despite all of that, he still felt he could honestly say that he'd yet to actually eat a canine. And more, the prospect of it now didn't bother him half as much as it probably should have. Propriety and squeamishness were dead concepts, long since forced out by necessity and will to survive.

(Sorry, Charlie.)

In fact, it was only the danger presented by hunting the wolves that were holding him back now; snaring small game was more his forte, and a lot less likely to bring a hungry predator down on them, but with their options dwindling with each passing week, necessity had reared her ugly head once again. Rick hadn't forgotten their encounter with the tigers during the last arena, one which ultimately proved fatal for Daryl. They were no longer hindered by the inclement weather, and he wanted to believe that he'd learned a thing or two since then - but neither of those was enough to take the edge of his own paranoia.

Whatever meager advantage they might have had was fading as rapidly as the daylight; they'd need to turn back soon, regardless of whether they managed to find anything. Sleeping on an empty stomach was hardly new to them, and there were rations enough for the others. They could make do - They always did. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the sinking sun, trying to gauge just how much longer they could afford to keep going, before they needed to-

It was as though the ground had been abruptly yanked from beneath his feet. The dizziness had struck him with all the subtlety of a hammer, leaving him reeling and momentarily blind; he stumbled over nothing, a hand flying automatically to stead himself and missing the tree trunk by inches; it was only belatedly that he realized that he simply hadn't felt the impact, numb to the way the bark had scraped his exposed skin. To the impact of his knees against hard earth. He could hear his pulse thundering in his ears, erratic and edging on panic.

Was this the work of the Gamemakers? Had they really achieved this level of control over them? As he felt his consciousness starting to slip, darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision, his thoughts veered to Daryl's fate. Whether he'd been afflicted by the same thing he had, or worse, what happened if he hadn't, and he inevitably came looking for him.

Nux closed to Alain

[shiny_and_chrome]

Nux is used to being sick, so in a way, he's got an advantage over some of the people here. Everything sucks, but he's used to everything sucking and pretending it's okay.

Well, kind of. He's a little wobbly as he staggers up toward the belfry, because, you know, fresh air might help. Or at least finding out the whole noise thing would get his mind on how it feels like his blood is trying to boil its way out of his skin.

He just needs, you know, a little rest here on the stairwell.

[atouchofka]

The light hurts Alain's eyes, and there's a low humming in his ear that's hard to think through. Worse, his stomach is roiling threateningly, and the last thing he wants is to vomit up the food and water that's so scarce already. The reasonable thing to do would be to stick close to Roland, as he's been doing the rest of the Arena, where they can guard each other. But his migraine feels like it's splitting his skull, and his vision is bursting into stars in the corners, and the chances of him finding his way back to their little camp without collapsing seem slim to nil.

When he makes it to the stairwell, he's not thinking about anything but shade and somewhere to sit, at least until the migraine's less blinding or the light's faded a little more. He's certainly not prepared for a fight, and if he was working on sight alone, he'd probably trip over Nux. As it is, he manages to stop in time, collapsing a few steps further down and closing his eyes.

"You too?" he croaks after a moment, leaning his head against the blessedly cool stone of the wall.

[shiny_and_chrome]

Nux has been sitting here feeling...kind of like a loser. He's supposed to kill people. That's what they told him. And so far, he's killed a grand total of nothing. Not even a bug. What kind of War Boy was he?!

Still, he heard the stranger approaching, managing to draw himself up into something like a crouch, like 'don't you mess with me because I will mess you up'.

Though right now 'mess you up' might mean 'throw up on you'.

"Me nothing! I'm fine!" A+ bluffing, Nux.

[atouchofka]

"You're not," Alain says flatly, massaging his temples as if that will do any good, and stretches out his splinted leg in front of him. As soon as he lets go of his crutch, though, his hand's working into his pocket, getting out the little folding knife and settling it close to hand. He thinks he'd see an attack coming, but he knows even a gunslinger can't be quick when moving makes the world swim and lurch.

Hells, even talking hurts. He pinches the bridge of his nose, swallows down the pain and nausea as best he can. "I can feel it," he says quietly, after a moment. "You and... there's others in the building. God and the Man Jesus." As if feeling his own sickness wasn't bad enough, without the echoes of other people's. "Settle. You're making it worse."

[shiny_and_chrome]

Nux is totally fine what are you even...

Okay. He's not fine. But you're not supposed to notice that. He's normally better at hiding it. Isn't he?

"What do you mean? I;m not making anything worse!" Except trying to talk is kind of making his head pound, so, yeah, he's just going to settle back down against the riser behind him.

[atouchofka]

Alain is quiet for a long moment, collecting himself, one hand rubbing at his forehead, the other clasping on the handle of his knife. It isn't an offensive move, though, so much as a reminder to himself of what's there and real. Cold stone. The knife. The man behind him.

"I can feel it," he repeats, at last, his voice low. It's an effort to ignore the heavy pulse of pain behind his eyes, but he's had a lot of practice in single-mindedness. "Pain's baking off you like a fever." And fading into his periphery, mixing up with his own, making the world a landscape painted in shades of agony. Whatever this new torture is, it's working. He's about ready to kill or die to be rid of this damned, all-pervading headache.

He opens one eye, though, looking back at Nux. He's dead pale himself, hectic spots of colour high on his cheeks.

[shiny_and_chrome]

That's...weird. Okay, he's just going to call it that. Weird.

"Yeah, well," he can't deny that claim. "Kind of...we're all like it where I'm from. I just maybe made it worse." Most War Boys are sick, and it's been a...while since he got some blood.

"...sorry?" What else is he supposed to do?

[atouchofka]

"It's not you," Alain says hoarsely, rubbing his forehead, and closes his eye again. "It's this bedamned place. Just another of their tricks." Which might almost be a reassurance, except it's working, and the knowledge of his own failure is enough to frustrate him as much as the pain. Cort would have a fit, he thinks miserably, and sighs.

"I cry pardon," he says, after a moment more. "Your pain's your own." Or ought to be, he thinks, not without a little bitterness. His control over his Touch has almost gone, not least out of fear of another lightning strike if he tries too hard, and it's amazing how much it hurts to be psychically open when half the Arena is screaming out in pain.

[shiny_and_chrome]

It's him but it's not him and now Nux is confused. Sick and confused. It's not his favorite combination. "Places don't have tricks." Do they? There was more than enough weirdness here--he's not sure he wants to even think of that weirdness.

"I just...is there something I can do?" Because this sucks enough to feel it himself. He doesn't really want to share it.