Oh my love, I know you are the Candy Man

[gamemakers]

Although the mood in the Capitol is...taut, once the Tributes are in the transportation craft, things seem to lighten. The peacekeepers almost seem jovial - as jovial as peacekeepers ever seem. About half the Tributes are checked over and given an injection into their tracking device.

In the underground room, the stylists have all their prep teams running busy, dressing up the tributes in bright costumes, chatting with each other, clearly excited to have so much freedom over what their Tributes are wearing in. Each one is dressed in a personalized costume, elaborate, and entirely soft.

Finally the Tributes are placed on their pedestals and sent on up, all gussied up.

25 - 24 - 23

The light is blinding for a moment, before the candy-colored world around them comes into focus. And it's not just candy-colored - it is actually candy. Some Tributes might be reminded of the game Candy Land, if it was something in their home world. Music plays, scarily cute animals roam, and every thing just looks so gosh-darn happy.

20 - 19 - 18 - 17 - 16

The Cornucopia sits, candy-striped itself, and over-flowing with a generous bounty of food, weapons, and supplies. Even these all reflect the nature of the arena, brightly-colored, and cheerful-looking, just begging to be gathered up.

11- 10 - 9 - 8

They've all been warned not to step off their pedestal early. But as the final number ticks off, those Tributes that had their tracking devices adjusted in the transport suddenly feel a sting starting in their arms. A slightly diluted version of what Ariadne was given the day before is dumped in their veins.

The dilution doesn't help them, of course; it just causes the poison to take effect more slowly.

5 - 4

3

2

1

Go.

The burning is starting for half of them, spreading through their body, lighting their nerves on fire. Within 10 minutes it's effecting their motor skills, causing them to stagger, twitch, to move against their will.

Those who are small fall faster, barely lasting 15 minutes in the bloodbath. The stronger and bigger among them might make it 30 minutes at most.

By the time the bloodbath is over, the Cornucopia is surrounded by corpses. Half of the Tributes have fallen without even a single competitor having to touch them.


[OOC: Don't forget the OOC Arena post, especially those of you running for the Cornucopia. Every Tribute must post to this post. There will be a Cornucopia thread, and anyone else feel free to post as you will. Please add a tag with your character's name.

Those who were poisoned are anyone in group 2. You will have a second post up shortly.]

Comments

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard tries to step forward now, small steps that won't take him from Sherlock's side.

"Look, I don't like that Effie woman either, but break-ups aren't fun. You trying to split them up's going to..." Howard makes a little noise, unable to put words onto his tongue. He wrinkles his nose and makes another pained, frustrated sound before giving up on it. "It's not okay, okay?"

Effie smells like papier mache. Gross.

[alldeduction]

The fact that Howard was limping here, bleeding from a head wound and trying to give him dating advice was so far beyond anything that he was equipped to deal with that he nearly rolled his eyes out of his skull and snap 'Priorities' at him, which he only managed to keep under control by biting down hard on his inner cheek. The performance wasn't for him, he reminded himself. This would all be on the television in the capitol. Keep it believable, and sympathetic.

"As if anything I could do would change his mind," He grumbled lowly. "He already--" He bit the words off, and frowned, as he tried to help Howard lope in the general direction of John. It was going to be a bit of a walk, like this. "There's no reason to be concerned. He made it all too clear that it is not an option."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"He did? Why?" Howard sounds a little too interested in the answer. "He actually likes you."

Because to Howard that's pretty unfathomable, but he admits that Sherlock doesn't exactly shoot for the 'traumatized hypersensitive teenager' demographic.

"We should go to high ground. Wyatt's..." God, that word thing again. Why is it so hard to say basic things? "I told Wyatt I'd go to high ground. He patched me up last time. And you can find John."

And the four of them can play house, he supposes.

Alex Rider -- open

[luckofthedevil]

This is what you get for even the tiniest bit of complacency. Alex had thought he was in the clear, at least for a little while, when he'd been passed over with the cuffs. But the moment he feels the prick on his arm, he wonders if he'd been wrong.

"According to your medical report you're a little run down. The doctor has suggested a vitamin booster. That's all this is. You're not going to tell me you're afraid of a little prick?"

Yes, he is afraid of a little prick. Because the last time he'd gotten one, he'd ended up in Kenya, dangling over a river full of crocodiles. Any amusement he'd had when his prep team had presented his costume is long, long gone.

As the countdown finally reaches zero, Alex bolts from his pedestal. He can already feel the pain starting to burn its way up his arm. Spotting a few others who aren't getting off to good starts, Alex feels his stomach clench. Forget the Cornucopia, he has to get away from here. Sure, the adrenaline and increased heart rate will just make whatever poison circulate through his body faster, but he refuses to simply sit down and wait for it.

[nightlightheart]

He doesn't feel it - wasn't one of the lucky ones to get the extra special poke in the arm - but he can see it. Everyone. Or, half of everyone at least, twitching and spazzing about. It doesn't take a genius long to figure out that the over saturated sugar sweet world is anything but.

Not that he can say he's surprised.

He can say that he's not exactly liking what he sees here.

The tribute count was in the 90s and 45 of them aren't going to last rest of the afternoon..... and his stomach drops. Because he catches sight of none other than Bruce Banner. And.... he's one of them.

"Shit."

Tony's already out of breath. Ruffled up, and a bag over a shoulder because it was there and he wasn't just going to pass it by. But he's there. And he has no clue what the hell to do, but it probably shouldn't be done in the middle of this psycho pit....

"Come on buddy, you got this."

[celebrityskinned]

Dressed as Catwoman, heels and all, Venus bolts across the Cornucopia with the practiced grace of someone who's not only used to combat, but also used to having it filmed from every direction. It's calculated to perfection, and the effort at looking good hardly costs her in mobility or technique. Then again, a millisecond of preening could get her killed here.

She moves to intercept Steph, running without looking to grab items so much as cause damage. Making off with a bag won't get the cameras on her. Beating up other Tributes will.

Granted, she still wants to get her hands on one of those bags, but it's entirely secondary, and she hardly takes notice of it as she rushes Stephanie and throws a punch at the blonde girl's jaw.

[bratwonder]

The arena is ridiculous and his outfit is ridiculous and Damian Wayne hates everything (but that part's nothing new). The whole Cornucopia thing is suspicious to him so he's content to let everyone make a mess of themselves. He didn't need anything they had to offer him anyway.

It isn't until the Tributes start dropping that he becomes concerned, and that's when he turns back, deciding not to leave the area after all. He didn't recognize anyone in these ridiculous outfits, but he doubted these corpses would be here forever. He decides to try and examine a few before they disappear.

It's not long before things start to make sense and he's pissed. He grumpily makes his way out of here to start familiarizing himself with his surroundings.

[hasacondition]

He's thinking the same thing, while he can still think about something other than the pain, flashbacks to Ariadne, the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was going to be the same. He might be a goner, but he shouldn't be one here, not when everyone else was going to do the stupid hero thing and turn this into a big fuss while all the fighting was still going on in the middle.

He smiles awkwardly at Tony, his usual one stressed enough to look more like a grimace than anything else. "What's in the bag?" he asks as something to focus on, clutching his arm like he's getting ready to fight off the other guy--

(who's silent right now, or more like on mute; he knows he should be changing, but whatever they did to block him is definitely working here, and he's grateful for that at least)

--as he tries to pick a direction away, not particularly caring where as long as it's marginally safer to pass out in.

[shambler]

Hearing those words, that voice, sent a shudder up R. For a moment it seemed as if maybe he recognized it, Julie’s voice trying to peel back the hunger while it dug in its heels and shoved back, angry. Not today, it screamed. It swatted aside the part of him that knew better. R's hesitation gave Julie plenty of time to get that leg between them before he changed his mind, the zombie finding out suddenly there was a knee levered between him and food. Huh, that hadn’t been there before -

He growled as he was pushed off, his hand swiping at her face in a last ditch effort and missing by inches before she shoved him away. R landed in a sprawl on his side, the schemagh tied around his neck splattered with flecks of his drool.

He tried to get to his feet – couldn’t – and settled for a crawl because screw it, his legs weren’t doing what he needed them to and he wasn’t willing to wait. R inhaled and went dizzy with that Living smell winding its way through the candy and the cavity grass, lancing right through to him and splashing across his corpse. This close he couldn’t lose that scent. It shouted in his face. Sang in his ears. One hand clawed for purchase in the pink grass, the other one slapping forward and wrapping around the human’s calf. He dragged her closer with one jerky motion.

This probably wasn’t a good idea. Last time he came from this angle, he got his eyeball kicked out by an archaeologist.

The hunger shrugged. Whatever. Worth it. He wasn’t too hung up on having two eyes anyway.

“Hggh!” R’s mouth gaped open as he used his weight against hers. The Living girl was so close he could almost taste her already. He'd worry about fishing that pretty blonde hair out of his teeth later.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock's lips form a thin line at the question. "I think we've discussed this subject quite enough," He said a little testily.

He paused to look around, the absolute absurdity of the arena now dawning on him when he wasn't immediately taken up with taking care of Howard. High ground. High ground. He'd have to find bloody Candy Mountain.

"Wyatt." Sherlock said, unconvinced that Wyatt would really be able to help him. But if he would be able to find John faster without Howard slowing him down, so it wasn't a bad plan. Finally he caught sight of the highest ground around them and nodded towards it. "There. Let's go."

[lessthanelementary]

Neffa makes it halfway to the Cornucopia before he changes his mind. It's partly that, this being his second time, he's only acting mostly on instinct rather than completely - there's a part of his brain that sees Tributes start to fall, notices a distant spray of blood, and screeches NO NO NO NO NO NO with sufficient violence to bring his forward progress to a halt.

He feels like a target, with the bright-blue spots painted on his face and the ridiculous, ornate embroidery on his-- shirt? dress?-- glittering in the unflinching sunlight. He pauses only a few seconds, stumbles a step backward in the high, soft boots they've put him in, and then turns and pelts away from the Cornucopia - head down, arms pumping, breath already coming ragged, anywhere, anywhere, just away--

Sigma is an obstacle he didn't expect. He'd expected corpses closer to the Cornucopia than this, where the weapons are, and he sees him only when he trips over him. His attempt to check his movement, arms windmilling, heels dug in, fails miserably, and he catches a foot on Sigma's shoulder and ends up on the ground next to him, face in the sweet-smelling dirt. Oh gods, no no no no no get up Neffa-- but, wait-- He's not dead. Who hit him--?

"--Doctor?" It's not a hiding place, but two bodies stretched out next to each other is the closest thing to a disguise the Cornucopia offers. Neffa has a few seconds to hiss his question, to drag himself a little closer, close enough to see that there's no blood on Sigma. Are you all right is a stupid question. "What happened--?"

[hangingaround]

She's unsteady on her feet when she stops and looks at him. She swallows a small mouthful of blood and feels her stomach churn. He's one to talk about looking like shit.

She keeps his gaze for a few long seconds before her eyes dart to his arm then back to his face. An unasked question.

[hangingaround]

Redglare isn't entirely sure exactly why she's so set on protecting the younger troll. Maybe she's even more fond of her than she thought. Maybe she's more invested in her DNA than should be considered healthy. We just don't know.

She squeezes Terezi's hand (or maybe it's just a muscle spasm) and leads them both away from the carnage and screaming of dying tributes. If they can get away, get deep enough into the candy forest, maybe they can ride out the poison and survive this.

Maybe.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"'Kay..." Howard decides he's not getting anywhere, and besides, he's trying to prevent the dizziness and nausea from causing this morning's oatmeal to have an encore appearance. He'll find a way to drive a wedge between John and Sherlock later.

He hobbles along as fast as he can, using Sherlock for balance. He's well aware that standing out in the open is a bad idea, but as they get near the gingerbread cliffs he can spy little holes and nooks to hide in. It's hard to make out how far away they are with one eye.

He doesn't like that he has to keep leaning into Sherlock's side to keep from tipping over, doesn't like that every time he misjudges where the ground is it's this goon whose arm he clutches to get right again. Somehow, this bothers him more than the splitting pain, more than the fact that his face is still bloody, more than the vertigo and blind eye. Maybe he's just used to pain, or maybe it's that the physical contact side of things is still a difficult one, even for business purposes.

He makes no complaint as they go, not even noises of pain, and after a long enough pause he finally says "thanks for s...thanks for helping me."

[pythianjudgment]

Terezi clings to Redglare's hand as they make their labored dash for safety, which really only makes her hand tremble harder. Her knuckles are a pale ash grey, the same hue as her face. She presses the heel of her free hand hard against her tightly locked lips, trying to force back any cries of pain. With Redglare next to her, all of her previous insecurities come rushing back, mainly the ones about appearing weak. Logically, it's ridiculously laughable and unimportant; but it helps her focus. It helps her keep moving. Even when the agony causes her to stumble, to trip and fall, she scrambles back to her feet. She keeps going.

After only a few minutes, it's clear that she's reached her limit. She staggers and falls to her hands and knees, but makes no effort to get up this time. Her fingers dig into the ground as she braces against the pain, the stifled noise in the back of her throat becoming a strangled cry of agony.

She's going to die. She is fully aware of this, that she can't take much more. It would be better if her ancestor left her here, but she can't form the words to tell her that. The only thing that manages to pass her lips is a choked sob, an acknoledgment of her fate.

Pepper

[wantsajetpack]

Pepper managed to stay still, though as soon as they were released, instead of heading for the bloodbath she moved away from it, clawing at her arm, why was it burning!

She wanted to scream, but she was worried it would cause others to find her. Managing to stumble to a tree she fell to her knees, the sun on her costume telling her it was a bad idea already. She probably stood out like a sore thumb in the black suit and silly silver hat. It was hard to breathe.

Tears filled her eyes as she closed them, trying hard to stay silent. It would pass they wouldn't kill her would they? Wouldn't make things fair if the capitol killed her like this... Was it because she was too nice to everyone?

Chris

[big_badass_hero]

He's not sure what to think of the green and black outfit he's in, but at least he can move in it.the band on his wrist still stands out. He gives a faint grin at that. The lift's heading up and he steels himself, last arena hadn't been too bad, but the one before... He really doesn't want to get thrown in the cold again, not in this get up...

Chris waits as the clock counts down, scanning briefly. He sees his target and as soon as they're released he runs for one of the brightly colored bags managing to snag it. It's not hard to pull it over his shoulder as he keeps running, only to pause mid step... this isn't like the others... the sounds arn't the same.

Fuck

His eyes look around, Glinda, Doc, Parker... He needs to find them make sure they're okay. Please be okay... The pack slips over both shoulders as he searches. "Parker? Glinda? At this point he doesn't care, let someone come at him, he'll snap their necks. Worry over his friends keeps him moving, focusing on that makes the noise and sound of the arena a little easier, at least for now.

Pruna OTA

[knifewithnoname]

Pruna's mouth dropped open when she looked around the arena. She didn't have long and she took as much of the strange surroundings in as possible before her eyes flicked back to the cornucopia. Last time she had just ran but this time she knew how important having a weapon was, having food was. She kept her shoes on for, she had to be fast and couldn't afford to take them off.

The countdown ended and she darted forwards, darting towards the piles of things, planning to grab as many things as she could.

[futilecycle]

The younger man tripping over him barely registers through the agony. Dr. Klim gasps, turns to meet the other Tribute as the most recent wave relents. It his last moments of clear thought, Sigma is grateful it's a friendly face that would witness his end, though a quick death from a sword would have been almost kind. Sigma's eyes meet Neffa's briefly, weakly, before another wave of pain seizes him.

He recognizes Neffa's plan, understands that the fellow magician would be in danger if he screamed, and so he buries his teeth into his cybernetic arm - as the worst of it comes, he bites down so hard that his artificial blood bursts from the wound, soaking his blue sleeve white. Sigma's teeth audibly grind metal. Memories of his amputation spring to mind, so sharp and vivid he feels as though his eye is again being plucked from its socket.

When finally the Doctor can breathe again, he removes his mouth from his arm and the 'wires' that make up his nerves spill through the holes in the fabric like fibreoptics. He rolls onto his back and stares at the sky unseeingly.

"Same," he gasps. He hadn't watched Ariadne's execution very attentively, but he remembers what that Penny woman said about the drug. "Same poison-" He has to take a breath. "As-" He can't form another word. When the next spasm comes, Sigma still stubbornly refuses to scream: this time, through the pain, he begins to weep.

Doc Holiday

[doc_holi]

Holiday was scared. Just as scared as she was on the first arena, when they threw her to the Cornucopia by herself on that blizzard terrain right before she had met Aunamee. She was scared all over again and she knew it was stupid. They were going to make a show out of her before they finally killed her so why worry? She knew it would be this way from the start.

Why was she so scared?

5-4-3-

Dressed in some robes, Holiday took a deep breath before letting it out again. It was almost time and fear wouldn't matter anymore. She eyed the things scattered around the horn and picked out what she wanted. Running away from the Cornucopia was sure death, especially in an arena that looked like this. Nothing the Gamemakers gave to them on a silver platter was free.

2-

Rebecca closed her eyes and took a deep breath again. She thought of trees, moving trees, with giant monsters walking along beside her. She thought of a dark room lit by a single red light with only a piece of glass separating her from what used to be her life.

1

Her eyes flew open and she ran.

Re: CORNUCOPIA

[marcato]

Twenty minutes into the death match, his legs can no longer carry him.

It is easy to think about betrayal in a time like this. An expired contract. Termination. I'm sorry sir, but we no longer require use of your services. The brave and generous Aunamee, the magnificent and magnanimous monarch, he has never been cast aside like a sock with a hole in it or an out-of-date newspaper. The fury brought on by the poison competes with the pain, and as he rolls and writhes behind a tree made up of gumdrops, Aunamee visualizes murders in his head. Down goes Cruentus. Down goes Penny. Goodbye, Timaeus. So long, Wesker.

But then something seizes his neck and pulls it backwards -- another convulsion -- and with grey stars flooding his vision, he lives in this minute and this minute alone.

[knifewithnoname]

Pruna's costume at least is free enough to run in and the shoes are flat though the moment she gets out of immediate danger they are coming off.

The war cry alerted her to danger and she jumped to the side, continuing to run towards the arena, recognising the woman from the feast and keeping an eye on her, if she was a danger Pruna would fight but she would rather get a weapon first.

[marcato]

"No."

The sound came out like a bark -- or more accurately, someone admonishing a bark. It was a short, harsh command, the kind born more from frustration than fear. After all, the poison didn't quite feel like poison yet; it felt like misplaced adrenaline, a temporary hiccup in his physiology, and R, oh, he should have really known better, but he was not at fault here, he was too weak, he was too out of control. Aunamee would teach him.

He flung his arm at R's face, his palm flat and exposed.

That was when he felt it. The burning. It had been easy to ignore at first, but now his entire arm was clamped in a vice of metal teeth. It caught him midway through his follow-through, his arm dropping like a puppet with its strings cut.

Re: Pruna OTA

[justoutrunyou]

A scream pierced the perpetual singing of the world around them. A horribly familiar scream.

Just as Pruna had reached the items the scream reached her as roughly halfway between where she had entered the arena and where the Cornucopia was...Sandy had fallen. She was looking in wide eye'd horror as the bottom leg of her ridiculous bear costume was being stained with crimson red.

In-between her knee and her ankle thick Iron teeth had clamped shut so hard and fast that they were splintering the bone. Blood spurted out and leaked into the already sticky ground.

It was ironic considering her outfit, but Sandy didn't have time to consider that. In fact she couldn't focus on much of anything but the pain as the device kept a firm grip on the meat of her leg sending pain through her nervous system like lightning.

[shambler]

He'd heard a lot of variations of "no!" - most of it scared shitless, these terrified screams turning into whimpers when they found out the hard way boarded up windows don't always keep out zombies - but R couldn't say he'd heard it said quite like that. It was like a no to a dog, like he was about to get swatted with a newspaper for bad behavior.

Then he got slapped in the face.

Not punched; slapped.

It wasn't enough to make him stop and reconsider his life choices. What it did do was make R pause for a second, an idiot's surprised look actually crossing his face, his mouth open as a string of black ooze dripped out onto his shoes. Something like a baffled grunt wormed its way out of his chest and past his lips, his head sagging to the side as if that slap had dislocated his jaw, his eyes on Aunamee. The Living man's arm hung there, limp, like he'd blew everything he had in that one slap. The grunt gurgling up out of R worked its way back up to an attack groan, the only warning tell Aunamee had besides the way he hunched one shoulder down.

The zombie went lurching again after Aunamee, wobbling over. He got his hand tangled in the jacket, R struggling to pull himself closer to he could bite his nice, straight nose off. Don't ask him why. He just felt like going for the nose first today.

Sometimes he liked to shake things up.