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

[lessthanelementary]

Half an hour after the gong, and Neffa's already got the beginnings of a blinding headache. It's everything at once-- the fear that's been crawling up his throat since they let the tributes loose, intensified by seeing Sigma succumb to Ariadne's poison right in front of him, and the knowledge that this time, he didn't get away with anything to bargain with, and the hopeless expectation that he will be brutally murdered again, and on top of it all the ceaseless, pounding light of the sun, and the hideous neon glow of the sky.

He'd put his head down and run from Sigma's body, away from the Cornucopia, away from the rest, and even with the extra work he's put in in the Training Center, he can't keep up a flat run much longer. He stops among strange, sharp-smelling trees, the closest thing to cover he can see, plants his back against one and grimaces at the thick smell of chocolate.

Nothing to do but try to pant quietly, force his breath to come back, and pray that no one finds him before he's found something to bargain with. (Oh, gods, let no one find me.)

[amourtician]

Jay is not quite looking where he's going, because he's crying too hard and the mascara he applied that morning while his stylist wasn't looking is stinging his eyes. Everything is a confused blur, from R -- R of all people -- lunging at him and tearing his costume to Aunamee expiring right in front of him. He's not even sure why he's crying, but he feels awfully alone and awfully young. His legs hurt and he feels ill. He knew it was a fight to the death, he knew what to expect and yet the reality of it proved far worse than anything he'd dreamed up while battling insomnia in the Capitol.

But, somehow, miraculously, he'd snatched a bag from the Cornucopia and it's now slung over his shoulder, making his back ache as it bounces against it as he runs. He hasn't had a chance to explore its contents yet. He hopes there's some water or a stick of carrot or something not cloyingly sweet in there.

After a while, when the sounds from the Cornucopia have grown distant, Jay stops, wipes his face with his sleeve, and tries to orient himself. He's hopelessly lost, of course, and the bright landscape is hugely disorienting. He's shaking, not violently, but noticeably, almost as if shivering from some inner cold. He takes several deep breaths, trying to calm down and picks a random direction to walk in. It isn't long before he stops a figure in the distance, leaning against a tree. He slows down and squints into the distance, trying to figure out who the hell it is. He walks closer, knowing that he may well be exposing himself as a target.

"Hello?" he calls out ahead. "You ... there? Against the tree? Ah. If you let me live, dear, I'll share my supplies with you!"

[lessthanelementary]

Neffa freezes against the tree trunk. There's no hiding; he knows that. Even if it weren't broad, shining daylight, the bright blue dye in his hair and the violent color of his clothing must be visible from miles away. He could run-- adrenaline's already returning to his limbs, and the voice is still distant, if he takes off now he could find a better hiding place before--

--dear?

"...Jay." He has to swallow and repeat himself before it's audible. He doesn't move from his place, but takes his weight off the tree, keeps one hand on it and beckons him with the other, throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure that no one else heard Jay. "Come closer," he risks saying a little louder when no one appears out of the shadows (there aren't actually any shadows) to murder them. Share his supplies? Maybe there are gods here, after all.

[amourtician]

Jay barely recognises Neffa by sight -- why the hell is his hair blue -- but his voice is familiar and welcome. He positively runs over to where Neffa is trying to blend in with the scenery and shoves the bag of supplies into the other's hands, glad to be free of the weight. He rubs his aching wrists and leans against the tree, forehead against the bark. After five seconds or so, he risks looking at Neffa. Jay still looks like hell and it's clear he's been crying. There are black streaks of mascara all over his face and he's flushed from running.

"Oh darling," he breathes, for once sounding like he means the endearment. "I'm so glad to see you. I ... people are just dropping like flies back there."

[lessthanelementary]

Neffa has a feeling Jay isn't just talking about the usual Cornucopia carnage, and the thought makes him feel sicker. The weight of the supplies in his arms (for all he has to catch his back against the tree again when they're shoved at him) is a welcome distraction - he remembers last arena, the wary negotiation it took to get Howard to forfeit even the possibility of teaching him to tie a snare, and the bulk of the bag in his hands feels like a gift, indeed.

There is a wild part of him that hisses take it and run--! But it is early in the game, and he is not yet desperate, and the part of him that replies you haven't paid for it yet is still louder. As is the part of him still glad for a potential ally.

So he puts on a face that's more confident than he feels, because he can still afford to lie to himself; it's frightened, of course, but it's a sympathetic fear now, and not a self-defensive one. "I saw," he says, and his hands tighten on the bag in his arms. "I-- I didn't run for the Cornucopia, but I found Dr. Sigma-- dying. He swore no one had touched him. That he'd been poisoned before the gong ever sounded." He laughs, breathy and too high-pitched. "But that's-- they wouldn't--!"

[amourtician]

"I saw R ... you know, the ... ah. The risen corpse?" Jay says, nervously . He's wringing his hands now and chewing his lip bloody. "He ... he tried attacking me. It looked like he was having some trouble moving. More trouble than usual, that is."

He glances away, down at the ground, and studies his feet.

"And ... ah. Aunamee ... he ..." Jay gulps and tears come to his eyes again. "He had some sort of fit and ... I ..."

He starts sobbing again, knowing that it's absurd to cry over someone he barely exchanged words with, but not being able to help it, either. He hadn't known any of the men he'd seen die, prior to this, and remembering that there's a spirit inside the body of flesh makes it much, much harder to be flippant about death.

[lessthanelementary]

"Shhhhh," Neffa hisses, and hefts the bag into one arm to reach out and give Jay an awkward shoulder-pat that's more frantic than intended. He throws a glance over his shoulder and hauls Jay a step closer, hoping if he cries against the tree it'll keep the sound from carrying quite so much. "It's-- it was quick, at least. They'll wake up back in the Capitol tomorrow. It's fine." There there does not belong in the Arena; he bites it back and tries an encouraging grin. "I'm sure they're already preparing the consolation feast for them. They're better off than we are, if you think about it."

His mind is racing. Aunamee and R and Sigma. He can't see a pattern. Three different Districts; three different worlds; and he can't speak for the others, but Aunamee wasn't given a cuff after the execution. There's no obvious reason the Capitol should want to kill them before the Arena even properly begins. It defeats the purpose of the Arena, to his mind-- why should they...?

His jaw is beginning to hurt from holding a smile that doesn't tremble. Gods, if he doesn't shut up soon he can cry into my fist--!

[amourtician]

Jay lunges forward and hugs Neffa, tighly, around the waist, burying his face in the other man's chest. He's sobbing convulsively, now, all pretence at composure and class and ornamental value tossed right out the window. He tries to speak, to articulate how awful the situation is, but he's incapable of forming coherent sounds. Instead, he moans and whimpers like a kicked dog.

He does not let go of Neffa. Neffa is not any of the people he wants to see right now -- Raimut, Mara, his sister, for god's sake, or even the Initiate -- but he's there and he's a friend and whether he likes it or not, he's a source of comfort, too.

At least Neffa's chest muffles Jay's sobs somewhat.

[lessthanelementary]

An armful of supplies and Jay turns out to be too much to bear at once, and the bag in Neffa's arm tumbles to the ground. The arms around his waist abort his attempt to catch it, and Jay's forehead gets him right in the collarbone.

Neffa's choices, as he sees them, are to shove Jay off of him with as much force as he can; to apply only half as much force and get him only far away enough to shake until his teeth rattle; or to comfort him. (Killing him is also an option, but the instant in which Neffa entertains this notion is brief). Anyone coming up on them now would take them for low-hanging fruit-- two weaponless tributes, one with his arms pinned, and their spoils lying unguarded next to their feet.

In the end, Neffa makes his decision based on the logic that screams would be louder than sobs. He grabs Jay's head and crushes it closer to his chest, letting his arms and the heavy fabric of his embroidered coat smother the noise further (and maybe a Jay who can't get a proper breath also can't wail with as much volume). He even rocks a little, though it has as much to do with the sudden strain on his legs as any latent mothering instinct. "It's fine," he says, and "Jay, the supplies," and "Shhhhhh," and "Gods, Jay, shut up, please, please will you shut up--"

Another few minutes of this and his knees are going to give out. My last death is going to look dignified by comparison, when they find us here.

[amourtician]

Jay quietens down a little, if only because he's been crying so hard that his nose is positively clogged with snot and it's getting hard to breathe. He leans away from Neffa and wipes at his eyes with his hands. He looks just as utterly miserable and hopeless as he feels. His face is streaked with make-up and sweat. Crying has taken the edge off his terror and despair, somewhat, but he' far, far from calm. More than anything, he wants his twin sister, to curl up with, to protect him, to carry heavy bags while he did the talking.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, looking down at his hands. "I ... I just ..." he sniffs and it almost looks like he's about to start crying again, but he perseveres and keeps whatever scraps of calm he's regained. "This is just awful."

He leans against the tree and whimpers, though, mercifully, it's far quieter than his earlier bawling.

"Do you think there's any chance the supplies are laced with cyanide?" he says, miserably.

[lessthanelementary]

Welcome to the Arena, Neffa manages to stop himself saying. He bought quiet at too high a price to be snide now. He half-turns, still close to Jay but with a better view of their surroundings - it's calming, knowing he could run if he wanted to.

"I can't imagine why they'd want to kill us off in waves," he replies, and makes only the barest pretense at humor. "It seems inefficient. Assuming the deaths of Aunamee and Sigma were... were not natural." No, not a good direction. "--But that hardly matters now. The gods have sold us our lives, for the time being, and we might yet find a way to extend their contract." He gives Jay a determinedly cheerful pat on the shoulder. "Focus on that. I intend to, anyway."

Wearing a mask of confidence isn't quite the same as being confident, but the charade is easier to keep up with Jay's terror to set it against. He can be anything he wants, so long as he does it quietly.

[amourtician]

Jay chokes out a hollow, almost soundless laugh that sounds like a sob. He knows Neffa means well, with that line about gods, but that is cold comfort.

"Darling," he says. "My gods both hate my goddamn guts, I'm pretty sure. Being spared now means a worse fate later."

He looks up into Neffa's face, seeking comfort and reassurance and only then starts to really take in Neffa's costume as a whole and it baffles him. He's vain, to be sure, but not narcissistic enough to quite make the connection.

"Er, forgive me the bluntness," he says, thickly, through a nose full of snot "but what the hell are you dressed as? Why are there blue dots on your face?"