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

[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.

[hangingaround]

Redglare is barely faring better. She's struggling to keep her grip on Terezi, stumbling every few steps because her legs can barely hold her. The scars under her gloves and on her back feel hot and if she didn't know better she could swear actual flames were licking at her skin. She forces herself to focus only on getting them somewhere safe, hidden among the candy trees and sugary bushes on the off chance they'll survive the poison that's getting close to making her wish for death.

Until Terezi falls and the sudden shift in weight sends Redglare sprawling to the ground. She grits her teeth, biting back a pained shout that comes out as a low-pitched grunt. She tries to get up and falters, spitting up more blood from the shredded inside of her mouth. It would be so much easier to just lay here and let the poison or even another tribute off her. Any sort of release would be better than this.

But then she's always been too stubborn for her own good. She forces herself up, her limbs twitching and trembling with involuntary tremors, and grabs hold of Terezi's clothes. She can't carry her when she can't even stand herself but she can drag them both into the confectionery plant life out of sight.

[pythianjudgment]

Terezi barely notices when Redglare drags her into the candy coated foliage. It's difficult to think of anything other than the consuming pain she's in. The movement registers vaguely in a subconscious way, and she manages to shakily crawl in assistance, but that's as much as she can do.

There's a point where she finally gives up, curling in on herself to guard against the pain. Everything hurts, and she doesn't remember a time when it didn't.

This is what it feels like to die, she thinks in the small part of her mind separate from the agony. This is what everyone on Alternia must have felt like, when the Vast Glub swept through the universe. Excrutiating pain, trolls droping right and left. The thought is gut-wrenching, but she can't stop.

Tavros, Feferi, Eridan, Equius, Nepeta. Vriska. Sollux. Were their deaths this painful, too? Some of them, probably. Those last two hurt the most. Tears escape from the corners of her eyes, squeezed tight. She doesn't have it in her to care. They were her friends, and they died right in front of her. One of them by her own hands.

Tears turn to sobs that wrack her tiny frame inbetween the jerking spasms of her limbs. "Dead... They're all..." she gasps out, fragmented between cries of pain. "I can't... I... please..."

It's not apparent if she even knows what she's saying anymore, or to who.

[hangingaround]

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]

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.