Here it's safe, here it's warm

[etcircenses]

Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 7.
Where| District 7.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

The forest goes on for miles, a great green, snowy, and towering sea unbroken by the influence of man, at least until the city is reached, parts of the forest cut away around it. It's a city that's come to much ruin as the elements have taken over most of what once was Calgary, but some of the buildings have been converted into lumber mills, the giant saws buzzing loud. A few mills even have a man made river running by them to help run smooth and transport materials, the water's current keeping it from freezing just yet. The river runs into a massive and beautiful lake that's frozen over to the opposite side of the river's mouth, the ice thinner the further one gets from shore.

Posters of Clara and Emily have been put up around the District but some only half-way as the war broke out and parts were lost to the elements. Still more have been defaced, scratching out the lines Peace is the brightest star on the tree. The phrase We can make this our Panem can be seen around, but those too have been blotted out in other areas, sometimes with a note that the offworlders don't belong here. Tiny snowmen faintly resembling Karkat and Wyatt stand around, made by the young and hurried hands of certain residents here.

Much of the homes are log cabins, but a few have been made out of overturned train-cars and trucks. Throughout the open paths, Snow has been piled up to build icy blockades, protecting the buildings and their people, while trenches in the middle of the roads give Districters a vantage point to fight from.

But there is no better vantage point than among the trees. With the cover of the foliage, soldiers, Peacekeepers, and Districters alike able to climb the trunks can sit up high and scope out their enemies, getting the drop well before they're ever even noticed. These people have lived rough, but they are stronger for it, not weaker, and they are largely in favor of the Tributes, grateful for the children that were saved. Much of rebellion has hidden within those woods. The rebels on top of the many wildlife creatures like moose, big cats, foxes and birds of prey, make it a treacherous walk for Peacekeepers.

That in itself is another thing everyone will notice; there are a lot of Peacekeepers here. In District seven, most peacekeepers are the best of the best. Capitol-soldiers will be in no short supply of backup, even despite the District's rebelliousness. Rebels will need to step light no matter what they're doing; the Peacekeepers can be a little trigger happy.

The war continues, and in the back of everyone's mind is a familiar phrase; may the odds be ever in your favor.

Comments

The Battlefield

[etcircenses]

District seven has seen its fair share of injuries. From broken bones to frostbite to total limb-loss. The lumber mill turned hospital is well prepared, used to working in extreme cases with minimal supplies. And they'll need that skill, considering the battlefield is just outside their door.

In District seven, the snowbanks are the trenches. Slipping and falling at the wrong moment can be as deadly as any weapon. It's cold enough to bite but not so cold that people won't underestimate it, bringing on the possibility of hypothermia. Snowballs and icicle-swords are traded in for truly lethal weapons.

On the opposite side of the city is a second make-shift hospital, this one for the Capitol soldiers. This hospital is much smaller and understaffed. Still, some of the people of seven help anyway, not because they want the Capitol to win, but because they feel they owe it to the Capitol-Soldiers who once saved their children as Tributes, and do not wish to be so cruel in any case. That said, they are hesitant to help everyone to full recovery and forbid any talk of war or treacherous action in the Hospital. It is a no-man's land and they can save bashing themselves up for the mills.

In truth, the mills really should be avoided. It is comically easy to bump into one of the blades while fighting, and this could lead to devastating results. The river outside it is no safer, with an ice cold temperature and quick current.

Peacekeepers who live here will take all the help they can get, providing shelter, just as the Districters will do the same for rebels. Denial of their help will run you down faster than any battle.

Initiate | OTA

[carnagecarnival]

A: For Rebel allies

They let him clean up. He supposes he ought to just be grateful for that. He washes all that blood and grime on out. He puts his paint on to follow. He might almost get the suspicion that the rebellion didn't care on for unleashing monstrous beasts on the general populace. He had to pause at that thought, so bitterly amused, he was reminded of when he used to distrust rebellions implicitly.

He dons his armor, still fitting but smaller than it used to be, the bones not quite fitting perfect over his own as well anymore. He's taller but leaner. His old club, once so treasured (and still so in truth), feels foreign now. There's colors on it he won't never see again, ones he traces over and over as he sits silent in the hovercraft. He hopes they don't come off.

The old uniform's got improvements done, for the cold he's told. More covered means he won't freeze, though the ones doing the job don't look to happy in particular about it, if only for it belonging to him. Somehow when they said cold, he didn't anticipate another round of that thirteenth arena, his last real one. The cold bites, the snow, still pretty as ever, whips up sharp and stinging.

He's too noticeable out here. He won't get done shit. So he turns to the nearest rebel and hopes they know signing when he goes, Gotta get our lure on to them buildings that ways off. Of course, miming might go too, pointing at himself, the distant building, the other person, then a gesture of a walking figure, pushed by the other hand.

B: The sawmill

It's dark in here. Long abandoned as he can see, still cold but not so much as outside. There's a low bit on one part of the ceiling he can grasp. He swings himself to build moment and flips his way up on top. All a high wire up here, it is. He walks it easy, moving through them high bits and watching down below for any of those who might be lured in unlucky, or those just stumbling in on their own, possibly just as unfortunate.

All the saw bits in this place make him think of darker places though.

A!

[weaintashes]

This is Vivi's assigned District and the thought brings Daryl no comfort. Not now.

His breath is visible in the frigid air, slowly curling upward from his mouth and nose in occasional wisps as he surveys his surroundings, but growing less frequent as his body acclimates to the temperature and the cold gradually leeches the heat from him despite his winter clothing. His returned crossbow and the quiver of bolts are a familiar, comforting weight on his back, making him feel whole again in an indescribable way. He's a dyed in the wool archer who's rediscovering his purpose.

Can't deny how he's itching to vanish into the woods, the desire an almost palpable thrumming in his veins. But he won't be disappearing this day — far more than the promise of the Capitol's defeat, Rick's presence on the battlefield holds Daryl there as sure as gravity.

From the corner of his eye he catches the flicker of movement and turns his head toward it, surprise registering in his expression when the unknown troll beside him begins speaking with his hands. Beyond his absent districtmate, Nill, and the late Merlyn, he's never known another who signs — until now. One with a curious dialect. With practised ease his gloved hands flow through the sign the troll had used for lure, followed by the request, Clarify?

His eyes travel along the bone armour as they rise to the painted face. Almost pretty, in a macabre way.

B

[furgood]

One of the latter, Meulin flings herself in in a hurry. She's told Derek and Kurloz she'll be safe, very safe, but it's easy to wander off the beaten path, too easy to find herself nearer foes than friends. The misguided people of the District could be either, so she slips into the nearest mill. No cameras at hand, just a bag and her pen held up before her like a knife. She'd been told the best places to stab it, but she's still iffy on the execution.

Luckily, there doesn't seem to be anyone in the mill. Not that she can hear the quiet, but she can sense it. It's still. Relaxing a little, she reaches into her pocket for her phone, a handy makeshift flashlight if she ever saw one. It lights a path through the dark as she tries to find a place to settle for some time. Who knows who might be out there? It's safer in here.

Roland Deschain | partly open

[ka_sera_sera]

(ooc: He's going to see Alain Johns right after this but feel free to catch Roland around before that, or I could set up another thing if anyone wants, just let me know.)


There were no circuses in New Canaan. Not ever, and certainly not in the days of Roland's boyhood. But there were very similar things, as there always are, and every year or two one would move through the wide, green lands near his home city. When it was close enough to sneak away Roland and his friends usually had. There'd seldom been anything there that would have particularly impressed him, had Roland gone when older, and a bit of it which had seemed obvious and dull to him even then.

One of those things was the parade of elephants. Big things, they were supposed to be, huge and grey and strong, with huge ears and backs which could carry at least a dozen men. The elephants, the tigers, other animals from old legend and story, all of them had supposedly been displayed at those fairs at one time or another. To anyone who looked close, what had truly been on display had been sorry things, painted and shaven and a number of other distractions which had done nothing to disguise them from Roland's well trained gaze. Some of those animals had been quiet, docile, and some of them hadn't. It was in the way some of them paced, snorted, held themselves and watched people, especially people unwary enough to let themselves get close.

When Eowyn had tried to get herself killed attacking that guard, she'd claimed to be a bird, one fierce and strong and one which could never abide a cage. He'd dismissed her, then.

And the thing about those trapped animals at his boyhood fairs, many of them wouldn't care one way or the other for people, otherwise. Meet them in the wild, treat them warily enough, you'll be alright. But after being taken away from their fields and dens and litters, being painted and poked and paraded about, well, then-

Roland wants to kill something. He wants it in a way which is different from the normal battle lust. Sicker. It's bad strategy to send one of your soldiers out alone even if he's only looking for stragglers, but Roland goes where he is bid, his step as quiet as it's possible to be when moving over snow. He has been sent to look for stragglers. He will find them.

hope this is okay

[atouchofka]

Alain has settled himself in the crook of a pine, not well-hidden but high enough to be out of reach. His visibility (white camouflage gear notwithstanding) isn't exactly ideal, but necessary: the higher he climbs, the harder it is to get a clear shot.

And that matters, because his job here is one that requires a clear shot. He's not a straggler by chance: his sharp eye and sniping skill have made him a useful asset outside the main battle, where he can pick off Peacekeepers before they can strike. His old carver fits his hand as well as it ever did; they wanted to give him one of the rifles District 13 had in their armoury, but he's fought too long without his father's gun. He's already dropped eight men; their bodies lie in the snow, white Peacekeeper uniforms blending into the background, but blood starkly red. Now he sights along his barrel, narrowing his eyes as he waits for the dark figure to come close enough for him to make the shot.

Then he recognises him.

Alain Johns is, by nature, a reliable soldier. He keeps to his orders, and his orders are to keep his post. He would keep his post through hell or high water, even if he was the last Rebel left alive here.

But this isn't hell or high water, or death. This is his dinh.

He pauses. Hesitates. Decides. The gun is decocked and put back in its holster, and he drops out of the tree, landing silently in the deep snow. He raises one hand as he lands, silently hailing Roland, a smile splitting his face. It doesn't even matter that they're on opposite sides. Alain's mind is consumed with one thought only: Alive! He's alive!

In the Hospital, Wyatt| OTA

[the_marshal]

As one of the faces of the fight in District 7, 13 seemed content to let Wyatt see and be seen for the most part this time around. And that was alright by him. The choices being made out in the forest were not ones he wanted to have to make. Not if he could help it.

The hospital - helping - felt right.

He wasn't a trained doctor, but he knew the basics, and had picked up a lot over his time in the arena. Cleaning and sewing and setting - even rebreaking, in the notable, unfortunate case of one young man and a broken nose who's surgeon hadn't quite had the strength to fix it for him.

He did what he could, trying to relief what weight he could from the proper doctors, and staying out of the way when he couldn't. Sometimes he was just an ear for someone hurting; someone dying.

Whatever he could do.

When he had a moment, he pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote or sketched. It wasn't carving, but it soothed his hands - his mind - just the same.

Leo Cora | OTA

[lionhearted_victor]

When Leonidas was sent to war, he did not hesitate the call to bear arms and defend Panem from these anarchists. Former tributes showed their true colors and deserted their posts, but it was to be expected after all. They were not born in the nation, they only sought what was most convenient. Leo had to fight, he wanted to fight.

It was also, in a selfish way, Cora's time to shine. He took down any advancing rebels from the trees, trained since birth in the art of combat and camouflage. He was silent, and kept himself low, ready to make the quick and silent kills should he need it. No mercy and no regrets, for District Two's safety, he would take the shot.

The trees reminded the former coach of the training field trips he would have with his cadets, have them survive five days with just their skills and their weapon of choice. It separated the Tributes willing to live from those that were just in it for the show, he made sure that they learned the ways the first around. The Arenas were small-scale battlefields like these but there was no rescuing lifeline here.

The Small Lion of District 2 was hunting now. Allies would be recognized but he could not engage just yet.

[metalicarus]

Jet was airborne for the first time in months and for the first time outside of an arena. It wasn't his usual cybernetics, but a wingpack that matched Sam's. Together, they were a formidable force, but right now they were separated. Even still, Jet was confident in his ability, flying with the pack wasn't all that different than with his cybernetics, he just had to run things a little differently and his HUD that allowed him to zoom his vision was replaced with a pair of goggles.

It was by sheer luck he noticed the man in the trees at all, he happened to be looking in that direction when he noticed movement and an ally on the rebel's side went down. He would have missed the fight completely otherwise, as well carried out as it was. He flew higher a few meters before turning and swooping straight down, breaking only so he could land himself in some of the highest branches. It was only then when he had a better veiw, that he could recognize who it was.

"Leo!"

He'd come to appreciate the people of Panem as a mass a little more since he'd come to 13, but it was Leo who was the one that mattered most. If had to choose one person in Panem to save, it would be his former coach.

Hannah | Closed to Bucky

[f0rthereaping]

It's been years since she's been here, since she's even seen this place. She can't really call it home. Not after all that's happened. But it's recognizable, from the lay of the land, the trees, to the ruins of buildings.

There's snow everywhere, falling gently but for where it whips by around the windows. She should hate it, and she disappointed to find that much of her does now, to quick to compare it to people who are anything but gentle. She used to like the snow.

As they near civilization, her chest feels tight. It feels like she's being thrown in the arena for the first time. It feels like something of this actually matters. She gets up sudden, half to pace and move to try and relieve the tension, but she finds her feet carrying her to someone. She steals herself for what sight she might see-- he and his boyfriend together, that smile, anything-- and goes to stand before Bucky. She writes a note, rips it off, and shows it to him.

we need to talk

[hollowvictor]

It was a mission and, no matter what Bucky's personal investments were, that meant he was all business right now. As per usual, he was making rounds among the soldiers to make sure everything was stocked or in it's right place or that nerves were at a low hum rather than a storm.

It kept him busy, let him keep stock of the situation they were in before everything went chaotic and it made him available to the people he was supposed to be helping, if they should need him for anything. He just didn't expect Hannah to be that person.

He stopped what he was doing and gave her his full attention even before her note reached his eyes. He nodded and gestured to a corner near the stack of supplies and away from the others seated in the hovercraft. "There's some privacy over here."

Beyond that, he held his tongue, he didn't want to assume anything, especially since there were already ten different motivations for whatever this conversation might end up being running through his head. "What's wrong?"

Quintus Falxvale | OTA

[lex_paciferat]

It would've been safer for him not to come here, so close to the fighting. The paranoid part of him had railed against the idea, but after how things had fared in Twelve, he'd felt it necessary. Part of it had been the fact that he knows his advice will have more of an impact face-to-face with the local officers; part of it had been a desire to show his own investment in the conflict, rather than being some distant authority.

The most important part, perhaps, had been his own compassion.

He makes his way through the hospitals, guided by handwritten lists of the injured. He carries his tablet with him to take notes as he speaks to the staff, marking down the supply shortages they describe, but spends most of his time at the bedsides of wounded soldiers. Some recognize him, or are able to infer who he is from the dress uniform he wears; others have to be roused from the haze of sedation. He talks casually with them, recounting his own mishaps in the field, and tries not to think about how young they look, how much they resemble the comrades he used to know. As he thanks them for their service he shakes hands or pats shoulders, and presents each man with a copy of the gold medal pinned to his chest. It's an honor for being wounded in combat, one he'd once received from Seven's commander, and though Quintus doesn't believe in honor anymore, he wants these men to feel as though their sacrifice means something.

It's exhausting work, and after a while he seeks solitude outside of the military hospital, his back to the sounds of gunfire. Leaning against the wall, he shuts his eyes and breathes of the cold air, the weight of responsibility resting heavy on his shoulders.

[earthborn]

"Y'know. Most people wait until after the fight to give out the medals."

Shepard's sitting, crosslegged, on a crate. It's been a long day for everyone, and it's likely to become a long night-- even in her day, fights like this didn't die down just because the sunlight did.

God wouldn't have invented the moon if he didn't want us to die under it.

"What's the matter, Faxvale?" She's eating with both hands as she speaks, as easy in her flak jacket and combat gear as with the staccato heartbeat of gunfire behind her; Shepard fits into war with all the ease of long practice, nature and nurture for once in perfect harmony, "You afraid they're going to die before you get to award the condolences?"

For Punchy; possibly Albert and/or Joan later

[sociopathicwolf]

Snow was never a part of Derek's childhood - he hadn't even really seen it until he first came to the Capitol. But it'd been part of the arenas, and so he'd trained for it, even if that doesn't change the fact that it's freezing.

Still, he doesn't let it slow him down, as he moves carefully through the ice and snow of the battlefield, the white of his uniform helping to camouflage him. By now, thanks to the Capitol's medicine, he's healed enough from the last battle that his previous injuries barely even twinge while he hunts. There are other Peacekeepers moving throughout the trees, doing a sweep for any rebels lurking out in the forest, but Derek keeps himself a little bit separate from them.

Enough that he can't hear them, that it's easier to listen out for the sound of crunching snow or shifting branches that might betray the location of a rebel and give him enough time to pounce before they do.

Re: For Punchy; possibly Albert and/or Joan later

[culturalappropriation]

It's Punchy's first time back on the battlefield since that disastrous incident with Bucky months back, and he's trying to not let it show in front of the other soldiers. He feels as if it floats around in his aura, that he's not only a novice but a fuck-up, and that tends to make him quiet down and flare up with bravado in alternating currents. He might as well have his insecurities written on his forehead.

It's a relief when he gets out into the field, looking to incapacitate Capitol soldiers. The orders said incapacitate or kill, but Punchy is praying that he only need adhere to the former. He should be ready, he knows, to cross that boundary, and yet it sits in his guts like nausea. The white clothing makes his face look pink, all the more smarted by the cold, and he pushes through the trees, armed with a gun and a finger on the trigger.

He pauses when he sees someone else moving behind the trees. He holds out the gun, and says, in a voice that's clearly striving for more confidence than he has: "Yo, homie, stop and turn back down before you run into the danger zone."

Emily Finch | OTA

[conifer]

a) Around District Seven
She'd been asked to go in with the Peacekeepers to advise, as someone who knows Seven well. Emily had found exactly the frosty reception she'd expected, woodcutters giving her steely glares and her former childhood friends and classmates barely keeping any civility in their tone at all. All it would take was one word from her and they'd be arrested and dragged off by Peacekeepers, and Emily's a little disgusted to find that she likes the feeling of power that knowledge gives her. She reminds herself that she's here to restore order, nothing more. She refuses to allow herself to become even a fraction of the tyrant of a Peacekeeper she'd seen torturing the citizens that day so long ago, that almost felt as though she was remembering someone else's memories when she thought about it now.

The snow crunches underfoot as she makes her way through forests and villages and mining camps, informing the Peacekeepers who escort her about the pro or anti-Capitol sentiment in the various parts of the District as they pass through. More than once she sees the poster of herself that the Rebels put up, and looks away awkwardly until her escorts remove all traces of it, conflicted feelings rising up in her once again.


b) Emily's house in the Victor's Village
The house she'd been given by the Capitol after winning her Games stands a little way away from the settlement, and Emily had always relished the quiet here. Today, though, the shouts and blasts echo through the Victor's Village, even if it isn't in the immediate firing line at the moment. Emily peers nervously out of the windows, then sets about gathering up what personal belongings she can carry. She hasn't seen her family once. She's not sure if they're in hiding for being related to a turncoat who'd sold out to the Capitol, or if they're out there on the rebel lines.


c) Field Hospital
Her head was still pounding as she came round, her ears still ringing. She vaguely remembered being pulled out of the rubble of her house, remembered the smoke and flames and shattering glass. She's not sure how long she's been out, the world around her slowly coming back into focus, the searing pain all down her right side making her cry out.

Luna | Closed to the Initiate

[didnothing]

Another district, another battle, another mess of injured people and mad dashes for news and supplies. So far Luna hasn't yet been shot at, which she considers a step up over the District Twelve battles. Her encounter with a sniper in the battle back then has made her especially wary and she still misses having extra cameras to fall back on visually, but with so much to do watching out for attackers has to contend with jumping from patient to patient and consulting with other medics. This is what she has to work with; this is what she will work with.

Her rotations are rapid and erratic at the worst times, but for the moment they've brought her near the mill's entrance. Most of the cases here aren't too bad, the worse cases further inside and closer to their supply stocks, and it allows her a little room to breathe. When she has the luxury Luna stations herself near a patient's spot in a position facing the entrance, so that as she works she can keep an eye out for anyone incoming - whether it's friend or foe. In the absence of her ability to see through eyes not her own, Luna can at least make sure she sees as much as possible.

Pining For Justice

[etcircenses]

Beneath the snow-cleared ground, a number of explosives have been planted, a red splatter marked upon a tree for the Districters to use as a signal in an ambush. Many Peacekeepers were killed in the blast, but a few were left injured. This is where the soldiers come in. Capitol soldiers are charged with the rescue. They need to go in and save those injured Peacekeepers, getting them out of the danger zone and somewhere safe. That way, their injuries may be tended and the survivors may still be sent home to their families. After all, they're people too.

These Peacekeepers are also the perfect bait. Rebels can sit on high and pick off Capitol soldiers moving off to the side, while the group is lured (or even cornered) further into explosive zones. When enough of the rebellion's enemies are roped into the explosive zones, there'll be no hope left.

Terezi Pyrope | OTA

[pythianjudgment]

[A: On the battlefield.]

Fighting for the Capitol was not high on Terezi's list of things that she wanted to do, but dying was even lower and those were the only two options she was given. Reluctantly, she's hauled out to District Seven with the rest of the soldiers, keeping mostly to herself during the trip. There are others that she might talk to or take some kind of comfort in, but she doesn't want to paint a target on them, either.

Her feelings are of two minds when they get to the battlefield. On one hand, they don't put a weapon in her hand, and the relief is so great, she has to force herself not to cry from the weight dropping off her shoulders. On the other hand, they do strap a collar around her throat with the warning that if she tries to leave the battlefield or remove it without them, the explosion will not only kill her but also take out anyone within fifty feet of her. They try to mitigate the threat by promising to bring her back in the event that she dies in any other manner, and Terezi somehow manages to get her gratitude across without all the layers of sarcasm that threaten to blanket it.

With her loyalty secured, her orders are given to her: Fetch as many injured soldiers from the battlefield and bring them back to the medical tents. It's a simple enough assignment, and one where she doesn't have to tear apart her moral fiber just to keep her skin in tact. She's feeling just a little more grateful than she was five seconds ago.

That gratitude only lasts until she gets to the battlefield. There are wounded everywhere on both sides. War isn't kind to anyone, and more often than not, Terezi finds herself wanting to help a Rebel soldier more than the Capitol one at her feet. It's all she can do to keep checking for Capitol-aligned survivors, ignoring the cries from people she should be allied with. And always, there's an ever present fear crawling up her back. The sound of gunfire makes her flinch the closer she is to it. It takes a while to stop feeling like she's going to be shot any second, and she finds herself repeating over and over that she's working with the Capitol and the Rebels know she's an ally. She's a noncombatant, only here for the wounded. No one is going to shoot her, not even while her back is turned.

Whens she finds a dead soldier, Terezi pulls the tags from their body and pockets them. It wasn't explicitly asked of her, but no one is going to come clean up the bodies after the battle is over. The families back home deserve to have some kind of closure. Sometimes, she remembers that her own body is probably still lying back in District Twelve. It's a strangely disjointed thought, when she's staring at the body of someone who belonged to this world, who won't get a second chance to fix everything they left behind. She tries hard not to have those thoughts when she can, and to push them away when they sneak through anyway. Grab the tags and keep moving, she tells herself and does just that.

Finding a living soldier is a little more difficult than a dead one. Each time, she hopes it's not someone who recognizes her. Each time, she's glad when she can convince the soldier that she's here to help, not to stick a knife through them. It makes her already difficult job just a little easier.


[B: In the med tents/hospital location]

At one point, after returning with another wounded soldier, a box of medical supplies is thrust into Terezi's hands. The fighting has gotten so bad that they're in serious danger of not being able to treat everyone being brought in. They can't afford to pull soldiers off the front lines to assist, so they need whatever hands they can find. There's no point in fetching more wounded from the battlefield if there's no place to treat them, so Terezi sets to work patching up the wounded. If she tries to think of them as people and not Capitol soldiers, it doesn't feel quite as much of a betrayal to her friends who are eventually going to have to fight these people again.

Fuel to the Fire

[etcircenses]

The rebels have been using the trees as a vantage point, but therein lies a weakness. The forest hides two Capitol fighter jets that not even rebels have spotted yet. Capitol-soldiers have been given a map and snow vehicles (like ski-doos) to take them into the woods with fuel barrels taken from the District that must be delivered at all costs.

The rebellion has the opposite mission; to stop them. Both sides are armed, but the Capitol-soldiers have the disadvantage of flammable cargo. A crash gone wrong could send it all up in flames, preventing delivery for sure. For this reason, taking out the vehicle is encouraged, like by setting a trip wire before it, or any other means.

It's a race against time and failure may have disastrous consequences.

(frozen comment) Results

[etcircenses]

(frozen comment) Pining For Justice

[etcircenses]

The rebel-terrorists may have taken out the Peacekeepers, but this battle is not theirs. Thanks to the Capitol-Soldiers, many Peacekeepers have been saved. They'll survive, see their families, maybe even fight another day. Others have been warned about the explosives in the woods, and are now able to avoid it. The rebels are resentful, but among the Peacekeepers, the heroism of those Offworlders will surely be rewarded, for saving lives and helping to end this war.

(frozen comment) Fuel to the Fire

[etcircenses]

The Capitol has been stopped! Some rebels may spy the jets laying in wait further into the forest, but they'll not want to stay and observe for long. One of the snow vehicles has caught aflame, creating a small explosion within the woods and starting a fire. The wall of flame is difficult to cross. The quickest escape is over the lake, which may not hold everyone for long. Risk the fire or the ice, the choice is yours. At least for the rebellion, Districters are there with canoes to pick them up. Capitol-soldiers are on their own.

The smoke rises up and birds fly up and away from the growing bright orange glow. The other living creatures down below aren't so lucky. The animals dart out from the woods and into the town, fleeing for their lives. Soon enough, the mayor orders evacuation. The rebellion cannot take everyone and so will have to hope, as they fly away, that those left behind can outrun the flame.

She died as she lived, stupidly.

[ruffntumblenut]

Ruffnut had been looking forward to finally seeing District Seven but...not like this.

Each breath coming out of her lips and nose sent puffs of steam into the air. She almost feels at home in the chill of the winter and the thick forest. If she tries she can even pretend she's back on Berk instead of forcing her way into peoples homes looking for rebels with the peacekeepers.

Most of the District residents don't put up a struggle when the peacekeepers come. The ones who do unfortunately don't stand much of a fight. Superior weapons make all the difference.

She doesn't feel very good about it...but what choice does she have?

"It's for the best." She chirps just like the other peacekeepers as she moves through yet another persons home. Sometimes the searches can be rough and things get broken which usually makes the residents shout but everything is moving smoothly...until they reach one house in particular.

They let Ruffnut be the one to knock this time, and the face that greeted her at the door made her blood run cold.

"No one else in here, you monsters already took her!"

There was no mistaking those wrinkles. That miserable looking face, it was Hemlock's uncle. The same one from the video that had been left in Ruffnut's room.

Before she could speak he slammed the door in her face and she stumbled back.

"Break the door down." Ordered the peacekeeper behind her. The others were distracted trying to keep their eyes peeled for incoming trouble.

"I uh...I'm sure he's fine. Why don't we come back later?" She offered sheepishly.

The shiny reflection of her face in his peacekeeper helmet did not inspire confidence. He tried to reach past her for the door handle but she side stepped in front of his hand. He tried again and she side stepped once more. The third time she tried this he backhanded her so hard it knocked her off her feet.

"Get out of my way!" He barked and the other peacekeepers turned to see what had happened. Ruffnut pushed herself off the dirt and felt her blood boiling.

"He already lost Hemlock how much more are we gonna mess with this guy? He's like a million years old!"

That was enough to distract the leader of this little group who aimed a kick at Ruffnut. "We'll take as much as we need to to keep the Capitol safe!"

[conifer]

Emily's been watching from a distance, glancing over the people who are dragged from their homes and intervening in a small number of cases where she's certain that the citizens they drag out of their homes are loyal to the Capitol. She wishes she could do more, even as she sees the looks of venom that many of the people of Seven give her, for selling out, for becoming nothing more than a puppet of the Capitol. But she knows that keeping herself alive has to be the priority now.

When she sees the Peacekeepers starting on one of her own Tributes, however, she knows she can't let that go. She makes a b-line for them, pulling Ruffnut up by the arm and pushing the girl behind her, so that she's shielding her from the Peacekeepers with her own body.

"It's all right, Officers. I'll take it from here. I was this poor girl's Mentor back in the Games, and know how to deal with her."