WHO: Draco, Pruna, and Katurian
WHAT: Draco's death at the hand of a Districtmate
WHEN: late in the third week
WHERE: moving out of Fantasyland and towards Tomorrowland. Somewhere between the two.
WARNINGS: death, likely language.

( Read more... )

WHO| Howard, Draco, Eponine and Lindsay
WHAT| Howard and Draco run into each other, Eponine dies.
WHEN| Week 2
WHERE| Fantasyland
WARNINGS/NOTES: Death, mind control.

( Because I can see in the dark... )

WHO: Eponine and OPEN
WHAT: Chilling. Just chilling. And meeting people. No murder here!!
WHEN: Beginning of week 2
WHERE: Snow White's Cottage - Fantasy Land.
WHY: Eponine has spent a week alone whilst Mun has been writing essays - so come bother her!
WARNINGS: I dunno  - no death - but it is the arena so do apply suitable caution, ladies and gentlemen!


[It has been a week. A long, slightly uncomfortable - BORING week. Eponine had explored Fantasyland, slowly leaving the dank castle to look over the rest of what looked like a village. It was a strange place, with the tracks everywhere, and the little trolleys with wheels. Such a strange place. No - a theme park. A strange theme park. That was the word. 

Still, the trolleys made a good bed. Since the parcel from Eva had arrived, Eponine had spent her time curled up in a cart deep in the depths of what was purported to be 'Snow White's Scary Adventures'. She liked the dummys in the ride - the prince even looked a little like Marius if she squinted. And the clothes had proved useful too. Poor Snow White had long since lost her dress, so that Eponine might have a change. 

Perhaps she really could win this arena, just by laying low and hiding for the entire duration. She nibbled slowly on her rationsm and sipped the juice just long enough to stave dehydration,and read Eva's note over and over, and slept. 

Sleep. That was where Eponine was heading now, curled up in the tattered remains of Prince Charming's cloak, completely oblivious to any who might come across her.

WHO| Katurian and OPEN.
WHAT| Katurian is tiptoeing around the arena late at night. With a garrote.
WHEN| Second week.
WHERE| South-East (Parts of Fantasyland, Tomorrowland, and Main Street)
WARNINGS/NOTES| Attempted murder.

( Read more... )

WHO: Draco Malfoy and open
WHAT: Draco's made it out of the Cornucopia, and is now exploring a little
WHEN: immediately after the Cornucopia until some time that evening
WHERE: leaving the Cornucopia and heading north towards Fantasyland
WARNINGS: none right now.

He hadn't made it out of the Cornucopia with nearly so good a haul as last time. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, though he was still relatively unharmed, and that seemed good enough for him. He wasn't dead. Though that might have been a bit difficult, what with the complete lack of weapons in the Arena.

Draco rolled his eyes, wrapping his three cans up in the end of his cape, keeping it close to his body in case someone attempted to grab him with it, and with that, he began heading off north, just like he'd told Katurian he would. Maybe this Arena wouldn't be too bad after all.

The last few hours before the Arena have a strangely stifled quality, as if half the people they interact with are trying very hard not to laugh. Maybe it's the costumes, the fancy gowns and velvet tunics, the short capes. Or maybe it's their destination.

The round courtyard to which the tubes bring them could not be more different from the last arena. Though outside the circle of pedestals, disrepair and neglect has taken over the roads and buildings, the garden inside the circle could not be more perfectly sculpted. Every hedge is a smooth, rounded shape. Flowers bloom brightly in concentric circles of insane color. The Cornucopia sits gleaming and golden, and just in front of its mouth, a bronze statue of a man and a mouse stands amid the heap of supplies.


Aside from it, there is a hush. No flies in the flowers, no wind in the trees. It is a cool day, with the comfortable chill of early spring and noon's short shadows.



Outside the circle, behind the tributes on the northern side, a castle looms. Through its wide gate, devastation everywhere, but it, itself, is shining clean, glowing pink and blue. Opaque windows look down from the heights of it, as uncaring as every hidden camera the veterans know is there.



Music starts as the countdown nears the bottom, a whimsical, dramatic tune.




And with the final note, the gong rang out, and a firework shot into the sky from the castle's peak, bright enough to burst redly across the sky above them all. Let the Games begin.



((OOC NOTES: IF YOUR CHARACTER HAS POWERS THE CAPITOL HAS NERFED, make sure you are on this list.

And everyone really should review the arena post. Because there's a little more to play with than you might think.

And please remember to add your character's tag to each post they're in.))

Who| Draco Malfoy and anyone nearby
What| Draco fell into a crevasse, and he can't get up. Except that he totally can.
Where| a crevasse!
When| throughout the second week
Warnings| language and death

Draco wasn't finding this Arena nearly as bad as the last few. Perhaps because he'd actually made an attempt at things. An attempt at the Cornucopia - he'd received more supplies than he knew what to do with; an attempt at an alliance - he'd sadly lost Wyatt one evening after he'd found Momoko, but it was the point of the thing; an attempt at killing - Howard had sustained injuries that he hadn't expected himself to manage. It was an Arena of firsts, and though something deep inside him shivered at the thought of killing another Tribute in cold blood, despite having already done it the last time around, he was starting to get the hang of this.

Still, there was something so much more civilised about the Capitol, he thought. And without the illness of the last Arena to drive him around the place in search of people, Draco had found himself currently holing out in a crevasse. He heard people going by every now and then, but he had all the supplies he needed, suddenly grateful that he hadn't wasted his canned goods in the first few days like he'd thought he might.

It was only when he reached out for a can that evening and had it fly to his hand without prompt (though perhaps an internalised Accio can) that he realised maybe this Arena wasn't so bad at all.

Who| Momoko and Open
What| Momoko's alone and bored
Where| Her camp with Don (and Dean?) in a crevasse not too far from the Cornucopia
When| A day or so after the first day
Warnings| None so far

Of all the emotions Momoko felt in the arena, boredom always took her by surprise. Last time it had been overshadowed by the sickness and her growing apathy; now, she had nothing to distract her from it. Even Don was gone for the moment, out scouting, leaving on her staunch promise to stay safe.

Well, she was never the most truthful of people, and anyway, it must be just as boring for the viewers, which was always a concern. Not to mention it would be easier to keep watch when she could actually see. With all these excuses flitting through her head she drew herself up out of the crevasse with some difficulty.

She'd actually tried to train this time, but a few weeks could only do so much and Momoko let herself lie flat for a long moment to catch her breath before she sat up to survey her surroundings.

Who| Wyatt and Open
What| Watching the Death announcements.
Where| Near the Cornucopia
When| The night of the Cornucopia battle.
Warnings| Wyatt being glum, mentions of death.

He'd meant to find Neeshka during the bloodbath, had hoped they might someway be able to come to an understanding. He hadn't wanted last night to be the last word between them....

But he'd lost track of her during the scramble, had come away injured (he was lucky the knife had missed his eye) - if not empty-handed - himself, and he'd had no choice but to retreat, to find somewhere to hole up until the sounds of the fighting had died away, until the cannons had sounded, and night had finally fallen.

Now, with the snow falling lightly and the bright white moon turning the ground beneath him a pale, glittering blue, he traced his way back to the Cornucopia.

( Read more... )

Usually, the tribute's outfits for the arena aren't accessorized. But today, the last thing their stylists hand them before the countdown begins is a pair of heavy black glasses, polarized and thick-lensed. They look at odds with the thick, winter gear they've been outfitted in.


It's a long rise to the surface today, inside their individual little tubes, much longer than usual. They start to feel the cold only about halfway up, and to hear the wind. It howls across the surface as they reach it, pressing all of their clothes flat against their bodies. And the reason for the glasses is immediately apparent.


20 - 19 - 18


The sky is white. The ground is white (and gray and black and blue but mostly white), the far-off sea is blinding silver. Everything in sight flings light around, fractures it into scintilating rainbows and sheer white beams of reflection. It is strong, cruel light, and it bears no heat at all. The surface is so cold that the little metal trackers ache in everyone's arm, and the countdown has to continue at a deafening volume to be heard.


 12 - 11 - 10 -


The circle of silver pedestals is the only regular shape to be seen. All else is fractured and split, the most uneven footing imaginable. And at the center of the circle, the Cornucopia sports icycles hanging from its lip, almost to the pile of supplies tucked all neatly inside its mouth.


4


3


2


There's a lull in the wind just as the gong sounds, letting it peal out across the frozen glacier, and echo off the high rock cliffs in the distance. And the ice answers, with a loud crack that seems to come from miles down.


Let the Games begin.