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

[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?"