thearena | Oh my love, I know you are the Candy Man

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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.]

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Eponine was dressed gaudily indeed. She reached up as she stood on her podium, to try to drag her hat a bit looser. But no. Her stylist had used millions of hair grips, driging them hard into Eponine's hair, to anchor the velvet piece on. She was Aladdin and that was that.

Once on the podium and up in the arena, Eponine stared in astonishment. EVERYONE was different for a change. And - what was that land? Was it food? What were the animals?

When the klaxon sounded, she stepped off her podium and looked around uncertainly for her friends.

And then her body convulsed. As tiny, as starved as she was, the poison took hold quickly, and within a couple of minutes, she fell. Her legs wouldn't work, and she could feel her body start to shake. What was happening? She wanted to vomit. She couldn't. She wanted to run - but she couldn't drag herself up. Her legs wouldn't move.

Was this her punishment for running?

She began to scream.

Edited 2013-06-22 21:39 (UTC)

Maximus had been extremely quiet since the execution, his mind slowly turning everything over and over again. He'd declared a private war against the capitol to himself, and was judging how best to enact it.

He didn't recognize the outfit they put him in, and was not at all happy when they used a strange machine to shave off his stubble. His stylist told him in a sing-song voice that it would keep his face baby-smooth for the entirety of the arena. He had only glared.

As he rose up the pedestal, he found a world that was so far removed from his own - farther than the ice he'd met the first time, and even farther than the strange world they'd called 'Disney'. Nothing about this world felt natural or right, and Maximus was stealing himself when he felt it. The tingle in his limbs.

5. 4. 3.

The tingle spread, like fire, down the vein of his left arm.

Poison.

2.

He had to find Wyatt.

1.

Run.

The Signless doesn't recognize the outfit they've put him in, except to note that it's in his blasphemous red shade so someone must know what they're doing. As the podium lifts, he steels himself for something like another Disneyland -- but this is not that. This is not that remotely. They must have really listened in the interviews when so many people named the sweets and desserts as one of their favorite parts of Capitol life.

7. 6. 5.

The downside is he has no idea how to approach this sort of setting. It's too -- he almost gives a wry laugh as the countdown starts -- alien. He tries to use these last seconds to plan, and gets as far as 'get away from the Cornucopia as quickly as possible' before the stinging starts.

4. 3. 2.

He remembers being bitten by something that made his body burn like this, when he was still a young troll of barely four sweeps living in the vast deserts of the Alternian wild. He'd spent days in a cave, unable to move, and his mother had said he was lucky. He doesn't have that luxury this time.

1.

He's free, and he knows exactly where he's going -- in the opposite direction of the brightly striped Cornucopia. In this state even if he wanted to enter the bloodbath there would be no way he'd survive.

It's slower going than he'd like, though. He's small, and though he's blocky he's hardly a paragon of physical perfection, so the poison works its way into him easily. He doesn't get much more than forty feet away before he's in too much pain and his legs are twitching too much for him to do more than stagger in an awful meandering line. Blood drips down his chin from where he's bitten his lip so hard it's begun to bleed, because crying out and drawing attention to himself like this would be a death sentence.

Edited 2013-06-22 22:14 (UTC)

Thanks to the events just prior, John had been feeling less than prepared long before he was dressed in a ridiculous costume, prepped and put on the platform. Once brought up into the Arena he felt no better- the over-saturated colours and the sickly sweet taste in the air almost enough to distract him from the tingling sensation in his arm, until it spread, shooting up like cold fire in his veins.
The injection, from earlier. They'd done something to him.

He waited for the countdown anxiously- and ran in the direction he'd originally planned on with Sherlock, where he'd wait for him, though the pain was quickly becoming hard to bear.

[Kurt is dressed as a fantasy archer (with pants instead of a skirt, and without the bow), and is much more alert and focused this time around. He has no plans of dying this time, at least as much as he can help it. The environment is, to say the least, awkward. It makes him feel a little sick, honestly, if only because all the pink brings Rachel inevitably to mind. When the countdown ends he immediately runs, though he can't help but notice--

People are falling around him, sick and in considerable pain, but he has no time to figure out what's going on. Getting out of sight is the only thing he can do right now-- And find Blaine.]

Like usual, the gong goes off, and he goes off away from the Cornucopia, just doing his best to avoid the most bloodthirsty of his fellow tributes while he looks to meet up with the others. Last arena worked well until they broke them up, but there were fewer resources around here, and he doesn't think that would work twice either way.

The other guy might be big, but it doesn't mean anything for him now, and it's not long before he's stumbling, realizing that it's more than just paranoia and placebos. He grits his teeth, then glances up, trying to see if anyone else is feeling it, if there's something he can do. "W-wait."

10. 9. 8.

Redglare felt ridiculous. Being forced into a massive death match is one thing but putting her into a ridiculous costume before sending her to the slaughter? It was outright demeaning.

However upon seeing exactly where they would be doing all this she supposed colorful costumes were somehow appropriate.

7. 6. 5.

Her mind was running with plans as she surveyed the scene and her fellow tributes. Find Terezi. Check. Find the Initiate. Check. Find the Signless. Check. She just had to pick which one she should follow away from the Cornucopia.

Her arm twitched.

4. 3. 2.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek when the pain starts to spread from her arm to the rest of her body. She tasted blood almost instantly. Hah. Poison. Possibly the same poison used at the execution. Her eyes darted to the other tributes, saw the pained looks on about half their faces.

They poisoned them just before setting them off to kill one another. Why? What is the point?

1.

Red practically leapt off the pedestal and stumbled as she landed. Her legs felt weak and the pain was only getting worse. With her height and fitness advantage, the poison wouldn't kill her too fast but her weight would likely deter that small advantage. She bit her cheek again, this time spitting out a mouthful of liquid teal.

She ran from the Cornucopia, her steps stumbling and slower than she would have liked.

At least find Terezi. Ignore the fire in your blood.

Fire will not kill this dragon.

Tim knew before he got halfway to the Cornucopia - the sting, the tingling that started in his arm and spread with every heartbeat. Fact: He's been drugged.

The fray is already starting. There's only seconds to eliminate options, edit his plan.

Theory: They always dose the Tributes with something. He's never been at the start of an arena, but someone would have mentioned if drugs were routinely administered on the pedestals. This is new or a rarity.

Theory: Adrenaline. The fire's not cold; it's not adrenaline to give him a shove towards berserker brutality.

Theory: Immunization/Antihistamine/some other helpful, medically necessary drug. The terrain is bizarre - it could be something from this overall umbrella. But why delay it until the countdown?

Theory: Sodium pentothal/sodium amobarbital. The time for truth serums would be before the arena. There's no guarantee he'd live through the Cornucopia to say anything to anyone.

Theory: Narcotics - hallucinogens would explain the scene before him, the music - but he'd seen it all before it was administered. But hallucinating the Tributes as monsters, inducing paranoia, that would certainly increase proclivity to violence. Possible.

Theory: Poison. It's a death arena; what's the point of that? Particularly when they've put so much weight behind him as a contender with their little special. But maybe that's the reason why, the shock value of seeing a favorite go out in the early rounds. Unlikely but possible.

Fact: The Cornucopia is ahead, rife with supplies and weapons. If the injection was given to everyone, the playing field remains the same. But if not...

Conclusion: Run. The injection is a wild card, the affects immediate and still spreading. Pray the others have the same thought. Get to the rendezvous point. Overshoot it to sweep and find cover. Return in ten minutes, and hope that its not mind altering.

Tim veered off of the ring of pedestals tangentially, unwilling to completely turn his back from the chaos.

Edited 2013-06-22 22:50 (UTC)

Harley is bouncing on the tips of her toes by the time she catches sight of the Arena.

Her oversized mascot costume seems right at home in this saccharine soaked nightmare world.

And even better?! There was music! Harley listened hard to try and learn the tune but a tingling in her arm distracted her.

7-6-5

Her head snapped to attention as she realized that she hadn't been paying attention. Where was Babs? Where was Brucie and Timmy? And Tiny Tim and D-man and Eddie?!

4-3-2

And Gal pal and Parker and...there were just too many allies to look for and-

1. GO!

Harley was off like a bolt of pink laughter bouncing from one foot to the other and...slowing down. Was it the oversized head dragging her back with wind resistance?

The music sure was nice and the sun was bright, but she was having trouble focusing her vision on the weapons and those blurry tributes...was that Ivy running for the bags?

The usually bouncy and hyperactive Harley took a nose dive as she tripped over her own pink hoof like boot and landed flat on her face. It was perhaps the saddest looking faceplant of her career...which was saying something.

The injection was certainly worrisome. He'd never had to have it before. Did this have to do with Ariadne? If it did, why was it others - people he knew weren't Ariadne's friend, including that jerk who called her a...the b-word...getting it.

What was it? Why was it being injected into them? It wasn't...it couldn't be...

His stylists were mostly excited, talking, laughing, but Don himself was silent. He generally was during these moments, but there was a sadness, a tenseness to it, as they dressed him up like a dinosaur. Instead of his bandana, he was given a doll in a pink dress. It looked uncannily like Lottie.

And then he was on the platform. He took several deep breaths as they brought him up, the bright sunshine streaming in as he found himself in...Candyland? What was that singing? Was that-

10 - 9 - 8 - 7

Sting. Don's blood froze when he felt the tracking device inject him intravenously. He felt the shiver, felt his arm pulse. In an instant, he knew.

No.

6 - 5 - 4

He knew exactly what this was. He'd seen the symptoms in Ariadne, when she'd been forcibly injected. He'd been poisoned. Everyone who'd received an injection was going to--

3 - 2

He was going to die. Worse, the poison would trigger something else, too.

He had to get away.

Don had to run.

1

His feet flew off of the pedestal, away from the Cornucopia. But even at that moment, his body was starting to spasm, and his legs didn't go in an entirely straight line. It did not help that, inwardly, he was panicking about what he knew was likely going to happen, even if he stayed and died here.

Shell. Shell. Shell.

He just prayed he didn't run into Lottie.

Edited 2013-06-22 23:21 (UTC)

Rising from the depths, a new challenger had arrived.

Beady eye'd and over six and a half feet tall this broad shouldered beast was covered in a layer of what looked to be wet gravel that shifted with his every lumbering movement.

15-14-13

He would be terrifying, if not for the pair of fluffy white cat ears and paws that had been stuck to him as part of the cosplay.

He had a pair of matching cat paw boots, a tail, and even a red collar with a little bell on it. It was adorable.

Her looked irritated.

12-11-10

Truth be told, he had a splitting head ache. It was like the onset of a hangover though he hadn't drank in...he couldn't remember how long. It didn't feel like that long ago but days tended to blur together for him. They had ever since this nightmare of a second life began.

9-8-7

They had told him, if he killed enough people, if he was the last man standing he'd win and everyone would be happy. And it had been so long since anyone had really been happy to see Orc.

6-5-4

Killing was wrong. It was against gods will...

...but God had made it pretty clear he didn't give a shit about Orc anymore.

3-2

He shifted his thick stone covered legs just slightly and mutated muscles tensed.

1! GO!

With possibly the slowest start of any of the tributes, a woozy, irritated Orc lumbered onto the cotton candy grass and started towards the crowd gathering around the cornucopia.

He wouldn't even make it halfway. Before he stopped and stood, swaying in place. He felt sick. Like he was going to throw up or mess himself or maybe both.

The Psiioniic wants to laugh as he's shoved into his costume. How could they know? How could his stylists have known about her? They even lengthened his hair with some bizarre strips of fake hair - even if it's still nowhere near the length it should be to be a proper match, and they added a second band of tyrian purple around his hips so now it mimics his sign.

He doesn't know how the stylists could know, but it doesn't make him feel any less ridiculous.

Though, not as ridiculous as the arena looks. He can't help but feel awed as he looks around the horrible candy mess. Some of the sweets he doesn't even recognize, but it's a colorful, awful mess and the light hurts his eyes. Trolls weren't meant to live in the light, and for a moment he's afraid he'll burn, that this artificial light beating down on them could rival the Alternian sun's strength. But he doesn't burn, and he doesn't go blind, and when everyone else begins their runs for the cornucopia he turns in the opposite direction. He's stronger than he was last time he was brought in, but he's not the fastest runner by any means at all. There was only so much time to get his muscles back.

Terezi doesn't like the look of that injection into the tracking unit in her arm. She puts forth a question about it initially, wondering if that's standard procedure, but her concerns are waved off. Not important. Reluctantly, she drops the inquiry, but not at all because she wants to.

Her outfit for the arena is...new, to say the least. The skulls are amusing, but she's really not sure what sort of costume it's supposed to be. Nevertheless, she'll make due with it.

It's not until she is raised into the arena that the injection slips from her mind. From the get-go, everything smells amazing. She scans the other pedestals nearby for people she knows while the seconds tick down. She needs to find Signless, that is her most important objective, but it wouldn't hurt to grab some supplies, either...

She's just decided to make a run for a backpack as the final seconds tick down, when she feels the searing pain in her arm. Terezi winces and grabs her arm, her teeth just barely missing snapping down on her tongue. Her thoughts immediately fly back to the injection, and a jolt of fear runs through her.

They poisoned her.

There's really no other explanation as she feels the burning pain lacing its way through her arm. It's only going to spread faster when it reaches her chest. As the klaxons signal the start of the game, Terezi bolts from her pedestal--away from the supplies. She'll be no help to anyone in a matter of minutes. What she needs is to find a safe place to weather this poison, some place away from the slaughter. If not, she won't be playing in this arena for very long.

She's fast, that's for sure; but it's not long before the agony is causing her to stumble and gasp for breath.

The moment he looked around at this arena, Daniel knew he was sunk.

Someone out there must have given special orders to his escorts to screw him over in as many ways as possible from the start. Daniel glanced down at his chest one more time, as the countdown loudly clicked onwards, accompanied by a booming voice. They'd shoved him in abody suit made to look thicker than it actually was, more like segmented and layered body armor than some of the costumes the other Tributes were wearing, and the furthest thing from friendly. No doubt playing up to that image they'd constructed of him as a cold blooded "bad ass" from the interview. And compared to all the bright colors burning his eyes out around them, the very opposite of camouflage.

Daniel stood, tensed, breath held as the countdown went into the single digits. He'd been through this once already, but he was pretty sure he'd never get used to it or the way his heart skipped a beat every other number. But this time, there was no talking down some people and this time the Capitol had done a number on his reputation; chances were some wouldn't stop and give him a chance or the time of day.

And some wouldn't bother in the first place. They would try to kill him. Get their rocks off on it even.

Daniel had to blink rapidly against the glaring pink. The countdown hit zero.

He bolted for the Cornucopia.

Edited 2013-06-23 03:47 (UTC)

Sigma didn't recognize the character he was supposed to be cosplaying, though he realized it must be a costume when a semi-transparent eyepatch was placed over his only good eye. How stupid, Sigma had it removed during the countdown, clutching it tightly to his chest should it fall and set off the mines.

At ten seconds, Sigma feels the sting in his arm, and goes white. The gong rings, the third time he's heard it now, and Sigma hesitates before rushing forward. Dr. Klim's cybernetic arms, perhaps, give him a brief window of blissful ignorance before he begins to feel the poison's bite. But Sigma is old and the rest of him weak: he's halfway to the Cornucopia when the poison passes the ATB-blood barrier and his nerves ignite. The Doctor meets the candy-paved ground like lead, but the sugar burning into scraped skin is nothing compared to the pain leaching through his body now.

He digs his fingers into the sticky pavement and tries to stand, at first desperately believing it's his old heart caught up to him, as if he hadn't noticed the first symptom. In his head, he can hear the echo of Akane's voice: Three. Two. One. Chromatic doors closing...

Akane! Where was she? Sigma lifts his head to look around, hoping to find his friend he had lost touch with in the past few weeks. In his panic, he thinks he sees a flash of dark hair, a tall young man that resembles himself running by. Sigma closes his eyes and whimpers. This cruel drug was playing wicked tricks on him...

Edited 2013-06-23 04:01 (UTC)

This is what you get for even the tiniest bit of complacency. Alex had thought he was in the clear, at least for a little while, when he'd been passed over with the cuffs. But the moment he feels the prick on his arm, he wonders if he'd been wrong.

"According to your medical report you're a little run down. The doctor has suggested a vitamin booster. That's all this is. You're not going to tell me you're afraid of a little prick?"

Yes, he is afraid of a little prick. Because the last time he'd gotten one, he'd ended up in Kenya, dangling over a river full of crocodiles. Any amusement he'd had when his prep team had presented his costume is long, long gone.

As the countdown finally reaches zero, Alex bolts from his pedestal. He can already feel the pain starting to burn its way up his arm. Spotting a few others who aren't getting off to good starts, Alex feels his stomach clench. Forget the Cornucopia, he has to get away from here. Sure, the adrenaline and increased heart rate will just make whatever poison circulate through his body faster, but he refuses to simply sit down and wait for it.

The arena is ridiculous and his outfit is ridiculous and Damian Wayne hates everything (but that part's nothing new). The whole Cornucopia thing is suspicious to him so he's content to let everyone make a mess of themselves. He didn't need anything they had to offer him anyway.

It isn't until the Tributes start dropping that he becomes concerned, and that's when he turns back, deciding not to leave the area after all. He didn't recognize anyone in these ridiculous outfits, but he doubted these corpses would be here forever. He decides to try and examine a few before they disappear.

It's not long before things start to make sense and he's pissed. He grumpily makes his way out of here to start familiarizing himself with his surroundings.

Do or die.

18. 17.

His heart's beating hard and he'd almost swear he could hear the blood rushing through his veins. He knows the costume is just fabric but it's like it's weighing him down all the same as if it were actual armor. Don't step off the pedestal-- why? What happens? Tim finds himself wincing at the thought-- it actually hurt to think about the next couple hours. His eyes are surveying the land. Modified environment. Cameras must be everywhere. They're all dressed like clowns, even if he has to admit his style is much better than some. --oh. There's Steph. There's... other people he knows. His peripheral vision catches the clock counting down.

11. 10. 9.

It's actually ticking really slowly. He's wincing again at a ghost pain the next second.

4. 3.

Okay, so the clock's counting quick. More time, more time, they need more--

1.

It's a frenzy. Some people rush forward, others back to hide. There are goods up ahead-- tickets to survival? Maybe. Yes. His legs are carrying him forward before he knows it. Then his mind catches up and it's an obvious mistake. Tim stops on a dime, feeling already winded by the sprint, and he takes a half of a second to turn tail and flee the other way. A concentrated group of panicked people eager to get their hands on weapons or the like is just asking for a blood bath. No, no, no, how stupid! How could he almost get himself caught up in that? He needs to avoid others. Because it's obvious in some of the company's eyes-- not everyone is against killing.

Try as he might, colors and panic (sure, he can admit it. he's just been tossed into a death match) make him stumble early but he regains his footing. His lungs are on fire. That he's been poisoned doesn't cross his mind-- only traitors to this government get that treatment, right? It's not until he takes a micro second to slow down and check for some cut on his arm (it's burning really bad) that he realizes not all is as it seems. He'd been blind to other Tributes before but now... some people are just dropping like flies. That that will be him in the next minutes is a fact Tim finds hard to swallow, or ignore.

Ian had no idea why his stylists had thought it a good idea to dress him as a na'vi, at least he knew what he was which was less than he could say for some of the weird costumes around, but he didn't like it. Unless you were actually a na'vi it was rubbish for survival, and he was blue, with bare feet and the tail attached to his loincloth would probably trip him.

Before the countdown even finished he had more important things to worry about, like the pain wracking his body. He had felt nothing like it and stumbled forward trying to concentrate through the pain.

Shion should have known that it had been a bad idea to tell the stylist how he had gotten his scar. He had hoped that by knowing the story behind it, and what it had come to mean she would stop her attempts to change him.

Instead it had got him dressed like this, and they had injected him with something and now he felt sick. Sicker than he had felt before.

He barely had time to take in the arena, the other people, what was about to happen before the pain started. Added to the costume it was like Rat extracting the parasite from him all over again and he had not gone very far when he stumbled, barely able to continue. He was probably one of the first of the poisoned tributes to fall.

Eddie did his best to keep his cool when they injected the tracking device when he arrived. He's suspicious of the second, and isn't too keen on the needle, either, which is totally a priority when being taken to a death match. But, he's well-behaved, fairly quiet, alert. Anything that happens could be important to know.

They put him in a tacky jacket made out of plaid flannel, and a clashing tie, none of it green, straight out of an old game show by way of cheap fabric. He's doing his best to ignore that, too. Nervous? Sure. This is some intense stuff, and he's determined to make the best show of it that he can. He needs to get himself some room to act, though. There are too many people in too small an area, and that is exactly not where he wants to be.

When he goes up on the pillar, he raises his arm to shield his eyes, trying to get a good look at his new candy surroundings as quick as he can, and he sees the abundance of prizes. That has "early elimination round" written all over it. He'll run away, go for a good spot, bank on being able to improvise and pick supplies off the lucky survivors. He can anticipate all sorts of spectacular trouble to raise with this bizarre setup. So much potentially useful giant, garish candy scenery! So many annoying little animals!

But there's that stinging in his arm. He attributes it to the needle itself, but once the countdown's up and he's off running away from the cornucopia, he can tell something is wrong. He is not a sturdy guy, but he should be able to run, damnit. This is So. Not. Fair. He did not do anything wrong, here.

He doesn't make it anywhere near as far as he'd hoped, before the poison fixes it that he can't make it any further. He only manages to sink to his knees and then fall over, near inadequate cover. Not fair.

Blaine waited for the countdown by looking around the area. He couldn't believe how pink and bright everything he was. He was pretty sure that this was even worse than the Disneyland themed Arena.

He's dressed in a purple and green outfit with musical notes for buttons. There's a fedora hat with a very exaggerated feather and a visor with a musical note. He even has on a red wig and makeup on one of his front teeth to completely the look. He tried to scan the circle of Tributes for Kurt, but there's so many of them now and with the costumes it's even harder to track him down.

When the timer goes off, he has to run back from the violence as he tries to find Kurt. Time goes by, people die violently, and still he can't find Kurt.

Then... Everything seems to go wrong.

His entire body starts to rebel against him. He didn't understand what was happening at first. He was just suddenly in so much pain and parts of him were twitching. He fell to his knees. "What...?" he managed to ask, confusion and a sense of betrayal clear on his face. That was the only word that formed though, before he cried out in pain. The convulsions started and he could do nothing more to stop his body from painfully and horrifically shutting down.

Nikola had no plans to run for the cornucopia. If he didn't have his powers, he stood very little chance of surviving that way. Instead, when the countdown ended, he ran away from it, but he had only gotten a few feet before he felt the drugs affecting his system. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he kept going, intending to get as far as he could in the time he had.

Callista's jaw was set from the moment that she was lifted into the Arena. Her outfit was a small halter top t-shirt with a red and yellow S printed on it. She had a small blue skirt, white gloves and a tiny red cape. While they hadn't changed her hair to blonde, they had gone through the trouble of straightening it to make her look as much like the character as possible.

She started at the Cornucopia as if she might go for it, but when the timer went off she ran off in the complete opposite way. Once again, her goal was to find a place to hide so that she could spend this Arena doing nothing. She did not want to provide them with even a little bit of entertainment.

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