(no subject)

[gamemakers]

Who|  Anyone who replied here

What| A spread of supplies, ripe for the taking.

Where| Fantasyland

When| Mid-morning

Warnings/Notes| The winning rolls are under the cut

In the remains of a little pavilion, with broken teacups scattered around the remains of a fence at the edge, a tea party is set up. 

At one end of the table sits a white placemat with a white satin bag, neatly tied up with pretty white ribbons. And the other end is the same display, in black. Along each side there are 5 a piece, one for each district, in their colors.

The table is also covered with teapots, contained for tea and sugar... however all of them have covers. Covers that are moving, being pushed up from within by a tiny creature with bright eyes and sharp teeth. As soon as the first tribute touches one of the bags the pots burst open and dozens of small, mice muttation pour out, with mouths full of sharp teeth and paws with razor sharp claws on them.

Anyone who makes it away with one of the pretty satin bags will find it contains a large thermostat of tea, 4 petit fours, a small locket containing a small amount of shimmer medicine-about enough for one wound, and a sturdy hat pin, with a very sharp point at one end. Although both the tea and cakes are very sugary, they are also very filling-they will last a few days if rationed well. 

The Winners:

1. Shatterstar
2. Punchy
3. Daniel
4. Eliot
5. Pruna
6. Topher
7. Beck
8. Sandy
9. Asha
10. Kurt
11. Glinda
12. Giaus

Unfortunately Rictor and Morrigan will not be making it out of this little tea party..

Comments

[cutshort]

[Disgusting little things. Hyperion doesn't see the point of any of this - from the invitation to the trap (the prank?) awaiting those who are trusting or impetuous enough to go in, no questions asked - and the practically nauseated indifference reads on his expression.]

Spooking is a go - feel free to do whatever, just don't get him in the head please

[shambler]

The first thing R does is ignore the weird-looking mice. Mice meat is better than no meat, but sinking his teeth into, oh, he doesn't know, the guy standing in front of him sounds like a better plan. The hunger keeps pointing at the Tribute's back, as if R's blind in both eyes all of a sudden and insisting he mosey his way over - it's not easy, moseying and shuffling at the same time - and go for the jugular this time. His food can't run away if he's bleeding out on the ground, right? Right.

The zombie's lurch becomes more urgent as he picks up the speed now that he has another target. It's not a run. It can barely count as a slow drunk's jog...but that distance between them is closing. R's proud to say he doesn't groan until he's practically breathing down the man's back. Breathing. Yeah, right.

R tries to hit the Tribute with his best linebacker tackle, grappling to twist him around so he can tear into his neck.

[cutshort]

Hyperion doesn't take too kindly to the surprise, muscles jerking when he's suddenly thrown off balance. It wasn't exactly the stealthiest attack, but the gathering of people and mice didn't quite open his mind to the possibility of a sudden attack. His feet steady on the ground to keep him from falling, immediately pushing a closed fist to hit R's torso and hopefully buy himself a couple of seconds to reestablish a distance between them.

Hyperion says nothing. His gaze is steady but his mouth tense, taking out the folding knife from his pocket.

[shambler]

The punch doesn't even get a grunt out of the zombie. Air, who needs air? What it does do is lever his prey a few inches away, R surging forward to try to close the distance. It doesn't even cross his mind that the Tribute could be armed and even if it did, does it matter? Either R goes or he goes and R's betting that he can at least get a few bites in along the way.

R tries to claw his hand and get his fingers tangled in the other man's clothes, aiming a bite at his neck. At this close range, his hunger is already pointing at the jugular and saying that looks like a great place to start ripping. All R's squishy vital spots, the places where a Living guy could totally get stabbed, are wide open. It's like he's not even trying to protect himself.

[cutshort]

He shows teeth when R goes for the same attack, perturbed by his speed, his persistence, unable to fully back away from the grip on his clothes. This would be a good time to activate his implants, were they willing to cooperate with him in this place, drive his hand through the attacker's torso again, making him regret the moment he even set eyes on Hyperion's back.

Instead he finds himself struggling. The knife is still very present in his hands, despite its small size, and he aims to drive it into R's neck, puncture and twist, but the closest he gets is to his shoulder, using his free arm to shield himself and keep teeth away from his flesh.

[shambler]

The knife meets no resistance, sinking up to the hilt in the meat of R's shoulder. Instead of red blood welling up around the edges, there's a black oil oozing up around the blade and a distinct lack of screaming at a folding knife suddenly jammed in there where it has no right being. (Sadly it hasn't been the first time he's been stabbed). Maybe it's Hyperion's lucky day - R suddenly shifts, exposing his neck again, his shoulder jerks away and somehow Hyperion doesn't lose the knife. The knife comes sliding out like a good luck charm.

R's teeth snap centimeters away from the other Tribute as he snarls.

[cutshort]

"Jesus," He breathes, realizing for the first time that he'd been holding the air in his lungs, "The fuck is this?"

Oil instead of blood, teeth instead of screams. Hyperion could be fighting against a Spectre, for all he knows (isn't he one himself?), this could be a grotesque mutation of a virus that's been installed for too long. For a moment he wonders - fears - that this is what he'll become.

He brings his folded arm up to slam an elbow against R's jaw, following the move with a kick to his stomach. He just wants to keep those teeth away, have enough time to figure out what to do.

[shambler]

The elbow and the kick finally drive his attacker off of him, R’s teeth snapping together with a loud click. He nearly bites off his tongue. One of his back teeth calls it quits, a few splinters dribbling out his open mouth. The zombie stumbles backward off without getting a single bite in. Really? He has to get the guy who apparently has some kinda training? R needs to pick better targets.

R starts to right himself a few feet away, his shoulders hunching as he gears up for another attack.

[cutshort]

Jesus Christ. This thing just doesn't want to learn, does it. Hyperion readies the knife, coming to realize how useless is probably is in this fight, still unwilling to let it go. He's better off forcing him to stay away instead of just inviting him to do so with another piercing cut.

"Am I gonna have to kick your teeth in?" He arches his brows, taking one steady step back, "Back the fuck off, buddy. Go pick on someone else."

[shambler]

For the step he takes back, R takes a stumbling, clumsy step forward. He opens his mouth to tell him that he'd probably try gumming him to death if he lost his teeth and instead moans, the sound vibrating up from his guts and chest. He's all too aware that he lost the whole element of surprise thing. The Tribute could literally take off at a moderate-to-fast jog and R wouldn't be able to catch him.

He hates to say it but the guy has a point. He would be better picking another target, one that wasn't so sharp on the uptake and stab-happy.

It's just...he's right here. And R's hungry right now.

R aims another swipe at the Tribute.

[cutshort]

Another swipe gets another dodge and a blade driven right into the center of his wrist, yanked out in a secondary movement as Hyperion draws back to reestablish some space between them. Hyperion never runs. He hates to run. When a Scrounger comes after him to kill him for being infected, he does everything within his power to convince them there's a better way, gain their trust and snap their neck when they aren't looking. That doesn't seem to be a likely scenario with this creature, and so Hyperion is making considerations that scratch at him like fingernails on a blackboard.

[shambler]

The impact of the knife shivers up R's arm, his hand twitching on him as he misses all over again. Is this guy going to keep stabbing him until he gets lucky? R's sure if that's the case, the odds are in his favor because there's got to be a point where his arm gets tired or he slips up, and that's all it takes. A zombie like him can wait...in theory.

The need to sink his teeth into his skull, though, gnashes its teeth at the idea of waiting.

R reacts like a broken record with another lunge, this one clumsier than the last thanks to his fingers doing all kinds of funky things with the new stab wound.

[knifewithnoname]

[Pruna was still trying to escape, she had her bag, getting out would be easier if it weren't for the mice.

She skidded to a halt as she almost ran into someone and bared her teeth as her eyes darted around looking for an escape.]>/small>

[cutshort]

[Hyperion remained unmoving. He almost seemed bored in the face of a panicking child running amidst ready-made assassins, but his interest was definitely somewhere in the palm of her hand.]

Did I scare you?

[knifewithnoname]

[She glared at him, making sure he could see her knife, in the hand that didn't hold the bag. There were times for secrecy and times just to threaten those around you and hope for the best.] No you did no be scaring me. Now you do be moving.

[cutshort]

[Hyperion's brows arched, a silence 'oh?' in the face of the child's audacity. He decided he could grow fond of it, in an entertained manner. This should be an unusual sight around this place. One had to wonder what a child would do to survive in it.]

Are you telling me what to do?

[knifewithnoname]

Yes I do be, you do be in the way and someone will be killing you if you do no be moving. [She waved the knife pointedly at him.]

[cutshort]

[A pause. His eyes followed the movement of her blade, neither impressed nor bored.]

You do that often?

[knifewithnoname]

Killing people? [She shrugged] Often enough.

[cutshort]

[His lips stretched. This girl could make him like her, somehow, if he were capable of it.]

How many.

[knifewithnoname]

On my own I did be killing eight people. [She paused, Adachi counted too, she added another to her count.] I do be meaning nine, but I did be killing more just I did be getting help.

[cutshort]

[Eight. That was certainly not a number to be taken lightly.]

Who helped you.

[knifewithnoname]

My sister. And my guardians... well I suppose I did be helping them.

[A shrug] And how many people have you been killing?

[cutshort]

None yet. [For a moment he wondered - what would it take to kill a pair of sisters simultaneously? Make one of them watch while the other suffered.

But back to matters at hand.] I'm still pretty new. Taking my time to get acquainted.

[Which was no excuse - he'd had more than enough opportunities to take a life.]

[knifewithnoname]

[Oh he had meant in this place... that took her count down to one but she didn't correct herself, better for him to think her more dangerous.] You do be slow.