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

[alldeduction]

He adjusts to Howard's weight instantly, hardly even registering it. He's never been a stickler for personal space, despite what others might think, so it doesn't bother him. What does bother him is John, but they can't go back - still nothing to fight off the animals with, and it's not a short hike - Sherlock had to run all the way, and with Howard...

He'd go back after dark.

"There's a mountain." Sherlock said instantly. "Best chance of shelter that I saw - this entire place is nothing but sugar." He glanced at the ground. Sugar was an understatement.

He didn't waste time, however, immediately starting in the directly he had pointed in.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard tries to nod and then stops, as that sends more pain lancing through his broken head. He tries not to think about all the sugar, if only because he's still nauseated from the dizziness. "You wouldn't know how to archery, would you?"

Archery. Totally a verb. Howard tries his best not to slow Sherlock down, although that's tricky when walking is still such a complicated task. His sense of balance has improved a little bit, but he suspects that's only because he's adjusting to the depth perception of one eye.

"Why did you come back for me?"

[alldeduction]

"If I ever knew it, I deleted it," Sherlock said, biting back the grammar edit on his tongue, full in the knowledge that Howard had a head wound, and John would hopefully be watching this. Not to mention the rest of the capitol. Believable and sympathetic, he reminded himself, even as his gut twist at the thought that maybe John wouldn't get back at all.

"Couldn't leave you waiting." He said flatly. "John would never forgive me."

He only slows enough to keep Howard from stumbling too overtly - they don't have time to waste - he can smell Wyatt's burning body, still, from here - and he's convinced he'll smell it for a week. Burning flesh and burning sugar do not a pleasant compound make.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Somehow, that brings the slightest smile to the pained, glum expression on Howard's face. Somehow, John's reach of protection has extended past death. Howard just hopes that the Sponsor gifts from John and Wyatt come soon, so they can lay these theories about the bodies to rest.

That little comfort doesn't last long. The patter of feet picks up behind them, despite the fact that Howard can see where it is that Sherlock's leading him. It's within reach, but...

"Uh, Sherlock?"

[alldeduction]

"I hear them," Sherlock said instantly, his brow furrowed and his mind racing. "Damn. Thought they'd finally left me alone--"

He picked up his speed, half dragging Howard with him, as his infinitely quick mind ran over every possible method of escape. There had been something that kept them away. He had thought that it was the fact that there were two of them, but--

"Ah!" He said suddenly, his eyes snapping open. "Of course, how utterly ridiculous, fits right in with the theme--"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Please tell me you got a plan, Einstein." Howard tries as hard as he can to keep up, but his foot catches on something and he sprawls into Sherlock's side.

Howard's afraid of a lot of things. Aside from Aunamee, being eaten alive is one of them. He still remember pulling a flesh-eating worm out of Orc's face. He remembers the bones left behind from kids who wandered too close to the zeke field. If it weren't for the fact that he was already exerting himself stumbling along, he knows he'd feel his heart pounding. Terror starts to clench his brain like a vice.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock immediately moves to catch them both - splaying his legs to hold both their weight before allowing Howard to shift up. He doesn't answer immediately, but under his breath he starts to hum, and then a little louder, to sing.

"One man went to mow, Went to mow a meadow... One man and his dog, Went to mow a meadow." His voice was deep but and oddly naive in a strange sort of way, as if he had stopped trying to sing as a child, but had been trained, once upon a time. He took a breath, and a little louder, continued.

"Two men went to mow, Went to mow a meadow. Two men, one man and his dog--"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard pauses. He works that through his head. And he hears, beyond Sherlock's voice, that the patter of feet has changed direction.

"God, this place is so fucked up." He also imagine that he's one of the only people who's heard Sherlock sing now, in person, at least (it'll be broadcast everywhere soon, he's sure). Sherlock doesn't seem the cook-dinner-while-humming, yodel-at-the-sunrise type.

"Your pitch doesn't suck." Howard sounds surprised. "Most people have awful pitch."

[alldeduction]

"Violin," Sherlock said between verses, Three men, two men, one man--, "And a rigorous musical training."

It was perhaps the only part of his personality at odds with his job that he he was proud of - needed, really - and the loss of his violin suddenly hit him. Of all the things he did not have, in the Capitol, of all the things he should miss from home, his violin left an empty, aching place in his chest.

A place, of course, since emotional, that he completely ignored.

His voice trailed off when he was sure they were no longer being followed, and they were just coming up on the foot of the mountain. "Keep an eye out for somewhere to shelter," Sherlock said, not that he had any confidence in Howard's abilities, but maybe the occupation would suit him better than quantifying Sherlock's musical expertise.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"I never been trained," Howard mumbles. He has innate perfect pitch - that, and being able to write with both hands, are two strange quirks of his capabilities that he never thought would be useful. He does keep an eye out for a place. "But I like the violin."

"There," he says, waving a hand around. It's not easy to see, but Howard's very good at finding spots to hole up. There's a cave, with a sloped roof so fire can escape, and a wide enough mouth that it can't be blocked by a single person even though it's relatively discreet.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock almost says 'Oh good, one thing we have in common' extremely sarcastically, but he's still completely shaken by John's death and he clamps down on it, biting hard into his tongue.

He glaces where Howard's waving vaguely and his eye immediately catches sight of it, helping Howard over to it.

"Should do," He said grudgingly, as he quickly scanned the area around them, checking to make sure they weren't followed by man or beast. But they seem alone.