(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

[revvinguptheharley]

Harley arrived at the party with her usual subtlety, singing at the top of her lungs.

"A very merry unbirthday to me! To me! A very merry unbirthday to you! It's true!"

Belting out the silly song she skipped and swayed towards the table, her eyes on it's prizes.

[justoutrunyou]

Inching towards the edge of the table Sandy felt her stomach wound up in knots. With her folding knife in hand she tried to locate any potential threats lurking under the table or nearby. It couldn't be this easy could it?

[amplifying]

Beck was starving. Not enough to the point where he was about to keel over and die or something like that, but to the point where it was certainly slowing him down. Switching from a computer program who got their energy from drinks to a human who got their energy from both eating and drinking was kind of hard. Not to mention he hadn't bought any food for himself, and finding something edible here was like trying to find a needle in a haystack...

Not to mention the fact that he was having glitches ever few hours or so. Thanks to his cracked identity disc.

He inched a little closer to the table, keeping an eye out on the other tributes starting to file in (some a little more louder than others...). So here Beck was, unarmed and anything but on his best A-game. His plan of action is to take a bag and take a run for it...but you're more than welcome to change the tables, if you want to.

[pieceofcake]

Okay, so it was obviously a trap. But there was also no mistaking the sweet, come-hither scent of cake, and if there was one thing worth risking one's life over, it was sugar.

Quick as a cat, Gaius nabbed the nearest bag and made a run for it. He opened the bag as he ran, popping one of the sweets into his mouth. "Sweet!"

Rationing? What rationing?

[acro_bat_ic]

Barbara's eyes slid around. She was mostly focused on Harley, but she was also keeping an eye for other people in trouble.

While she might have made the insane blonde her priority, she was still going to try and make sure everyone else came out of this alive...

[showbizpanache]

[Kurt is hesitant to trust anything around here, and this seems almost too good to be true. It seems quiet, though, and no one else seems to be around--and gosh, they're cute, and he's so hungry and what harm could it do, really?

That's what he's thinking until he takes his bag and suddenly rats. Or at least he thinks they're rats-- He doesn't exactly spend a lot of time looking at them.

Instead he shrieks as one of them comes scurrying at him. Will a teapot work as a weapon? It's time to find out.]

[hi_there_aliens]

Rats and mice, except they'd gone through hell first, which was most likely the Capitol's labs. Of course they were. Daniel wasn't surprised anymore, and hovering at the outskirts, watching as a Tribute darted in and snagged a bag, seriously began to reconsider actually going in. Maybe if this had happened earlier, this would've fallen in less under the 'No chance in hell, Jackson/so you want an early grave?' to a 'Risky but doable' category.

The sight of the teacups, even broken down, brought an unpleasant twitch to his stomach. He was never going to forget those things, even if it was years and years since that time he'd nearly thrown up on them as a kid. Granted, that had only been one time, seeing as that time sort of implied there had been more than the one. Once had been plenty, both on the teacups and being the audience to how strong his foster brother claimed to be at the time. Granted, he might have goaded him into it by being a pain in the ass.

Daniel looked from left to right, turning at his torso. The ginger move didn't entirely. He winced anyway, when even the slight motion strained at his bruised neck. The archaeologist had gone from feeling like he could barely get in a trickle of air to something more like he'd gotten the biggest glass ball in the known universe making its home in his throat. That was the improvement improvement, seeing as his next option would have been garrotted in his sleep.

It looked... relatively clear so far. The other Tribute had drawn off most of the creatures. It was part curiosity that got Daniel to take the first and second, then third gasping step. Daniel weaved in, hand on the twisted metal, and hurried towards nearest bag he can find. There was a flicker of movement up ahead, and Daniel winced. The creatures were coming back, and fast. The living sea of claw and teeth came washing up the end of the table.

He had to move faster.

Sponsor gift to Pruna - also R will be following Tributes he sees toward the Feast

[shambler]

Go with the flow. That's like the zombie motto, right up there with Go For The Throat and Brains Does a Body Good.

Someone should put that on a shirt.

When R sees movement, Living movement, the natural instinct is to let out a groan, u-turn (it's the slowest u-turn in history) and start shuffling after his potential prey like a broken record. The Tributes make their way toward this pavilion set up in the distance, totally ignoring him. After his last couple of attempts, R isn't holding high hopes that he'll get a bite in this time. He's hungry enough to even go for rats at this point, R thinking back to those rats he gave Howard and - oh man, Howard, don't think about Howard. Seriously, just don't. Taking the little guy's trust and trampling all over it like a clumsy corpse who can't say no. There's a part of R that thinks he needs to say something, apologize, blurred in with that part that would love any excuse to get his hands in Howard's guts and -

Cut it out, R strains to get his thoughts together. Between putting one foot in front of the other and groaning to pump himself up, he's a busy boy.

He's so busy, in fact, that he doesn't see the silver gleam of a parachute with his name on it drifting toward him.

[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.]

[retrieverchef]

Eliot came toward the table cautiously. He'd been here long enough to suspect everything about this. He had no doubt it was a trap. But the bait could save his brother or Anna. Besides, sometimes traps were best sprung. So here he was. It didn't take long to spot the bag with his district's colors. Or the moving teapot lids. He pulled out his pocket knife as he walked closer and grabbed the District 3 bag. "Oh, shit."

[amoral_savior]

Way to walk up to a big, ugly trap.

This place was far more messed up than even Topher could imagine and by now it was fairly obvious that if this really was the Attic it sure as hell wasn't his Attic.

"Mice. Oh god why is it mice?"

He was a man of science and knew exactly how nasty those little critters could be. But he was also a man out of rations and seeing that bag with his number on it was too tempting to walk away. Keeping a tight hold of the shoulder straps on his valuable backpack Topher took off at a run for the table.

[knifewithnoname]

Stupid mice. Pruna had grabbed a bag and had it tucked under her cloak safely. She had her folding knife in the other hand and was attempting to fight off mice. Mice with sharp claws and teeth.

She stomped on one that was scurrying towards her and tried to make her way out of the pavilion.

[ordonaturalis]

When there was no real prize to desire, the thought of losing was not so terrible a thing. When the chance to observe what sort of clever trap their captors may put forward came up, Morrigan could find no strong reason no to attend. It was...different than she had expected. Tea parties were never a part of her life, making the gaudy display entirely bewildering to her. She pauses for a long moment before approaching, mulling over the utterly bizarre sense of humor these peoples had.