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

[shambler]

Was she really asking him what was wrong? R shot her a look. How would he know? This was a first: zombies weren't all that great at firsts.

R was trying to work out how to talk around the tar bubbling out his mouth and remember his grammar; even his hunger was distracted now because he'd seen how other Dead starve. This didn't happen. Zombies got hungry enough to attack anything moving or eventually just gave up and let themselves die somewhere. Not this. Whatever was going on here. He was starting to think this might be pain after all; real, honest pain, pain he’d wondered what it’d be like the first time he got shot and felt nothing. It'd be a relief to finally feel if he wasn't in the middle of an Arena, stuck there with Julie looking like she'd bolt if he moved too fast or looked at her wrong. He couldn’t blame her. She was a smart girl. She’d know when to run.

Talk to Julie. She wanted him to talk. So he tried:

"Hngungry...not...starv....st - yet," R by now was having trouble propping himself up even with Julie helping, his arms starting to twitch on him like someone else was at the wheel. He sagged against Julie, trying his best not to get black vomit all over her.

“Don’t…know. New…?”

R managed to turn his head just in time as he convulsed: he heaved, his body reacting while he played catching up. Oil splattered against the lake’s bank, narrowly missing Julie’s leg. R hadn’t figured out he should be scared. It was the human thing to do. Zombies weren’t known for the self-preservation thing and R was still busy trying to figure out a way to get up and fix the damage he caused. Looking up at Julie’s face, he could see right now he wasn’t helping. Some of what she was thinking flitted across her eyes, visible above her elbow. Leave and live? Stay and help the corpse who almost ate me? Choices, choices. Through the pain, R realized the organs he had were collapsing in on themselves, shriveling as the poison hit its end stage.

So long kidneys. Wish I knew you better, small intestines. Not even sure what you did, stomach.

He must be dying. The pathetic thing was R wasn’t ready: he still had things to groan, starting with Julie. What if this was a new infection? Another stage, because it wasn’t bad enough to be a walking, rotting corpse.

[misscabernet]

He should be glad she was too busy freaking out to think what stupid questions they were. Like she would know -- she was too busy fucking running from zombies to take in what their various levels of decomposition were.

Just hungry. What was he like if he was starving? Or did he not care who he ate until it came to her?

God. Seriously, she couldn't deal with this. Not now. She'd been in the arena for five minutes and already the one face that shouldn't be failing her was vomiting his own liquefied innards. Her instincts wee warring between leave him the fuck behind and stay and figure out what was going on. She couldn't -- she didn't abandon people. Or corpses, apparently.

She gasped as the drool turned into a deluge, shaking as she pulled away only to move closer to his back so the sludge didn't land on her. She propped up her knee behind his back, stupidly holding her hand just above his shoulder blade. Something new. How much worse could it get? Bad enough they were out here in the open, begging to be picked off.

And he wasn't freaking like he should be. She'd seen people vomit blood, watched them die crying or screaming or offing themselves if they had no other way out.

"I'm here," she said, because she was human and humans always had to say something during times like this, no matter how stupid it sounded. Watching people die didn't mean she was immune to it. Not that he was -- zombies didn't die. Not like this. They were already dead. "Jesus, R. Don't go out on me now."

[shambler]

This wasn’t working out. The whole dying nobly and not puking up your guts, literally, in front of the girl you liked thing. Not going awesome.

R knew eventually he’d die (again). He just assumed it’d be by the traditional, old school ways like a sniper picking him out in a crowd or an ax to the face or even a decapitation, not that survivors liked doing those anymore. Too many heads still biting back. Dying a second time around was only a matter of when. R thought he’d gone through every possible scenario of dying: he just…hadn’t pictured this. Not by some lakeside with a Living girl trying to do the decent thing and staying with him. Being there. Funny how that worked out.

R assumed he’d die like every other corpse out there – anonymously.

“Hhhere?” The zombie choked out. He needed that knee bracing himself up at this point because it was the only thing keeping him upright, R using the warmth of Julie’s hand on his back to help him focus. The words still came like miracles. “…Try….ing but…ssor…”

Trying wasn’t enough. R eventually ran out of sludge as he slumped to the side, his mouth slack as he continued to choke on air, his lungs wheezing while the last of the tar oozed down his chin. Without realizing what he was doing, his hand groped out for anything. A connection, maybe. Checking to make sure Julie was still there. Comforting her? Maybe he just felt better holding hands. He didn’t know. At this point R wasn’t thinking about how he could scare Julie off making any sudden moves. His fingers closed tight on hers. He managed to hold on for a long moment before even that seemed not worth the effort, R’s grip relaxing. His hand slid away because he just lost the rest of his motor controls, his corpse giving a few last death throes on him while he was still trapped inside.

Here, though. Julie was still here.

The zombie was still trying to find something else to say – maybe to thank her for staying or even another sorry – when the poison finished him off. R twitched one last time and then stilled, his eyes still frozen on Julie.

Whatever he'd been about to say rattled out and was gone.

[misscabernet]

Also human instinct to pretend that things that were clearly happening in front of them weren't happening. Of course, she'd also never seen a zombie puke itself to death -- hell, she'd never seen one puke in general. She kept thinking she'd seen this before, but it was the result of bad food. Rotting food. Or poison.

But. He was dead. This shit didn't happen to corpses. They didn't get picky about who they are. Obviously.

A shiver ran up her spine as the zombie grasped her fingers, the tips freezing cold, lacking that distinct human moisture. This was taking cold and clammy to another level. Still. She didn't pull away. Fuck if she could. Somewhere in her head, she'd accepted that, for whatever reason, her zombie was dying.

When he was gone, slumped over and lifeless -- hah, a lifeless corpse -- she released a shuddering breath, wiping her eyes with an elbow. For a crazed minute, she wanted to throw a tantrum. How fucking fair was it that he could try to tear her apart and then die afterward? How was that right?

"Fuck, R." He'll come back. Sure. She believes that. Enough to hook her arms under his and drag the heavy, decaying body after her.

Julie distinctly felt like this Arena was delicately planned out to really get on her fucking nerves. The cute colors, the singing. The zombie trying to kill her.

She blinked away tears -- of irritation, of course -- and pulled the body into a shaded place of trees. He felt dead. Like, completely. Looked dead. No one was gonna care about him out here. Just another corpse out of plenty others. (Why wasn't there the normal explosion in the sky?)

Whatever. She was stupid enough to care about a zombie (she wasn't thinking about the idea he might not come back), but not stupid enough to stay and cry by its corpse. She smoothed his hair from his brow, covering his open eyes with a few colorful gumballs. She recognized them for what they were; her mind didn't process it.

"Fucking corpse." She grabbed her bat, lugged her bag back between her shoulders. It felt heavier than before. Still. She took the burden and shot out of there, ducking under the huge, rounded head of a standing lollipop. She was on Candy goddamn Mountain covered in zombie ooze, and she was almost thankful for the rotting sludge that covered up the smell of sugar.

Fucking corpse. Once he showed up in the Capitol, he was going to wish he was dying all over again.