gamemakers: (Default)
The Gamemakers ([personal profile] gamemakers) wrote in [community profile] thearena2013-06-22 02:42 pm

Oh my love, I know you are the Candy Man

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.]
hangingaround: <user site="livejournal.com" user="lunais_cross"> (R3turns 4nd r3turns)

[personal profile] hangingaround 2013-06-26 05:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Once they're presumably safe, she finally lets herself go. She drops to the ground, still half curled around Terezi's smaller frame. She digs her fingertips into the earth and finally letting out the piecing scream she's been holding back.

Terezi's voice is just muffled noise. Her words are impossible to make out but she can hear her sob through the haze of pain. Even in her delirium, new waves of pain washing her over by the second, she feels like she needs to do something for her. Which is ridiculous. She's not her moirail or her lusus. They share DNA and that's about it. She's not even that fond of most young trolls. She's under no obligation to do anything.

But still Redglare chokes back a sob, lowers her face to touch her nose to the top of Terezi's head and chokes out a sound that's wet from her mouth full of blood and barely above a whisper.

"S-shhhhhh."
pythianjudgment: ([d] and the world goes dark)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2013-06-26 07:46 pm (UTC)(link)
The scent of blood is strong, the cool wintergreen amid the burning heat of the poison. Disjointedly, Terezi feels the press of skin against her flushed forehead, and the quiet shushing between her sobs. It doesn't make any sense in her head, there's no logic left to rationalize. She doesn't have enough coherent thoughts to think with. But somehow she understands the attempt at comfort, and she reciprocates in her own way.

Shaky hands fight against tremors in order to grasp against Redglare's clothes, grabbing fistfuls of cloth and pulling herself closer. She doesn't feel better--if anything, the movement sends new jolts of pain through her, but she feels safer. Less alone. Which is all she can really ask for in these last moments.

Eventually, the convulsions subside. Breathing stops. Her hands lose their grip on what was her comfort, her lifeline. Only a mere fifteen minutes into the arena, and Terezi Pyrope is done.