WHO| Tate Langdon, Eliot Spencer, Ariadne, and Donatello Hamato
WHAT| Death
WHEN| the third morning after the Cornucopia
WHERE| S-5
WARNING/NOTES| Violence

Eliot walked into their small camp site, carrying a makeshift plate of roasted fish and shark meat. He'd made sure to cook it a safe distance away in case the smoke from the fire brought unwanted attention. It had only taken a couple meals for him to be assigned most of the chef duties.

He set the meal on the ground in the middle of their make-shift tent and sat down. "Breakfast is served."

WHO| Tate Langdon, Donatello Hamato
WHAT| Death
WHEN| 3 Days into the arena
WHERE| S-6
WARNING/NOTES| Death by the power of shark...what.

Tate had been making his way slowly through the forest on the larger island. He had gotten injured from the altercation with the other tribute on the beach, which had slowed him down and made climbing trees and hiding well difficult. He actually found himself missing his old ally, Kevin who would have been a great asset to have in this arena. Now, like the first time in, he was alone. At least without Kevin there he didn't have to find food as water as frequently. He wanted to believe it was one less thing to worry about, but on his own really only created more problems.

WHO| Tate Langdon & You!
WHAT| Trying to leaving Cornucopia island
WHEN| After first night, afternoon
WHERE| E-5 to Q-4
WARNING/NOTES| None at the moment, but is open to attacks - feel free to mess him up, or start an alliance!

Tate felt like he was in Rambo having to find a way to carry the machete between his teeth in order to swim with it. He felt like he looked ridiculous, but it wasn't really the time or place to care how you looked. All that mattered was survival and taking out the other tributes. He couldn't afford to waste time as he quickly got into the water and worked to swim towards the larger island, staying by the reefs and not getting in too deep.

His head kept turning and watching for other tributes as he approached the new shore. Although he couldn't feel the temperature, the water would weigh down his clothes, causing him to stop and wring them out, stripping his shirt in the process. He was content when the machete would sit well hanging from his belt.

For some, this is the third visit to the arena. They know the tension by now, the electricity to the air as they're taken from the Capitol by hovercraft, the windows blacked out to preserve the element of surprise. Perhaps they are beginning to form rituals of anticipation or dread on these quiet, somber flights. New tributes have a tracking device implanted in their arm while old ones have theirs reactivated, both in movements so swift they'd be easy to miss or to mistake for each other.

After the craft, left alone in a cold, steel-lined underground space with their stylists, each tribute is dressed quickly; This time, the costume is a lightweight body-suit, pale green and mesh-like, with a thickly padded belt for flotation. By the time they are dispatched into the clear tubes, perhaps they will have noticed the sound. Quiet but steady, a regular booming like timed, distant explosions, the sound penetrates the underground station like a heartbeat as the tubes all rise up.

25 - 24 - 23

The steady thunder crescendos as they reach the surface, rise into the dawning light of a blinding equatorial day, and as the tubes drop from around them, the source, the unending waves of open ocean fling salt spray into their faces, chilling skin right through the thin body-suits.

20 - 19 - 18 - 17 - 16

The Cornucopia lies half-buried in white sand between outcroppings of reddish rock on the small island, barely big enough for the wide circle of tributes. Scattered around it are the weapons, the supplies, the brightly-colored bags they've been told to expect. Beyond the sandy islet, the reef stretches out, low-tide baring long stretches of it like a path through the sea, arching around to the other islands.

11- 10 - 9 - 8

They've all been warned, don't step off your pedestal early.

5 - 4

3

2

The sound of the gong, long and clear, rolls out above the roar of the waves. Let the games begin.

[OOC: Don't forget the OOC Arena post, especially those of you running for the Cornucopia. Every single one of you needs to 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.

Characters on reserve have until Wednesday, August 8th to be eligible to tag into this arena and this post, but anyone who did not sign up for the Cornucopia by Saturday, August 4th will be handwaved as having not not been part of the Cornucopia battle.]

WHO| Eliot, Max, Tate, Grey, and OPEN
WHAT| Fighting again...
WHEN| A couple nights after Team Survivor meets up
WHERE| At the Cornucopia
WARNING/NOTES| violence, death



( I'm )

There is a different tension in the air. This is the first time anyone has been returning to the arena, and it changes things. For the tributes that know, for those prepping them. It's all under the surface, waiting. The prep goes the same as before.

The tributes are taken from the Training Center, one by one, and placed into the hovercraft that will take them on a long, tense ride to the Arena. New tributes have a tracking device implants in their arm, old tributes have their's activated, a move so similar, so swift it would be hard to notice.

Left alone with their stylist, each tribute is dressed quickly, light colors, cotton fabric, sturdy boots. Nothing waterproof, and nothing that will help against cold, dark nights. Then they are set into the clear tubes, and go up to whatever waits above while the voice counts down.

25 - 24 - 23 - 22 - 21

It late evening, but the summer sun is still high and the day is hot over the ruined city that rises up around them. The air shimmers with it, hot, heavy, pressing down on the tributes.

18 - 17 - 16 - 15

The cornucopia, the only bright, new thing in sight besides the pedestals they stand on shimmer brilliantly in the sun, all the life saving supplies scattered around in, tempting and deadly.

9 - 8 - 7

They've all been warned, don't step off your pedestal early.

4 - 3

2

The sound of the gong releasing them echos into the empty streets. Let the games begin.


[OOC: Don't forget the OOC Arena post, especially those of you running for the Cornucopia. Every single one of you ought to 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.]

WHO| Tate, Lottie, any onlookers
WHAT| Death
WHEN| Day after killing Emily
WHERE| 8-E
WARNING/NOTES| Yay murder!

Tate had made his way upwards figuring he would possibly be able to spot and hunt down other tributes if he were higher up. He now carried a collection of knives and shanks on him from his last two kills and was hoping that they had counted towards something. Maybe he'd get one of those sponsors to send him a gun or something and he could end this real quick and easy.

He was walking along a ledge that was inclining when he noticed he was nearby another small stream that went off into a waterfall. It was ice cold water from the snow above, but that didn't much matter to him seeing he couldn't feel anything or really need to eat either. None the less, Tate decided to sit down and take a rest and enjoy the view - he may be a ghost, but he wasn't a machine. Streams could mean other tributes who did need to drink and stay hydrated to stay alive.

WHO| Tate, Emily & whomever may want to witness death and such.
WHAT| Killing and the like
WHEN| Day 4 in the arena
WHERE| 9-G
WARNING/NOTES| Things could get stabby.

Tate made his way through the fairly wooded area that seemed to be inclining. He had just made his first kill, the girl who was supposedly from his district - whatever that was really suppose to mean. It meant nothing to him. He wasn't from these districts. Either way, he was confident that killing people probably racked up some sort of points in this "game" despite having no clue if the deaths really counted for much other than ultimately winning.

It seemed like everyone had their own agenda or was off hiding in this damn forest. He could have just sat this out and waited for everyone to just die off, but that was just boring. Unaffected by the water and decreasing temperature, Tate kept moving. The sooner he killed everyone the sooner he could get the hell out of here. Having been stuck in that murder house in Los Angeles since he was killed in his bedroom by a SWAT team over a decade ago, must have left a serious impression on him. He was actually homesick. However he couldn't let that distract him. He wasn't going to risk actually dying. Not in here.

Shank in hand, he moved as a casual pace, while still careful to keep his wits about him and not step on any fallen branches that might reveal his position.

WHO| Tate Langdon, Sammy, and OPEN to whomever would like to wander in or witness
WHAT| Doing what tributes do best...
WHEN| A few days after the Cornucopia
WHERE| Arena 1, 8-L
WARNING/NOTES| Probably some violence

( I can stab better than shoot an arrow-less bow )

There's no word, before they arrive, of what the Arena will look like, what hazards and advantages it will give to the Tributes. It was a topic of interest in the news coverage beforehand, it always is, but as always, it's a closely guarded secret of the Gamemakers. They're gathered from the Training Center, individually, and taken into the hovercraft, where everyone is implanted with a tracking device, buried deep in the muscle of their forearm. It's harmless, but cutting it out would not be.

The hovercraft delivers them to an underground bunker, with only their stylists, and there they receive their one advance clue about the Arena; their clothing. Each Tribute is dressed in thick cloth pants and shirt, given sturdy hiking boots with thin neoprene socks, and a short, weather-proof jacket with deep pockets and a plastic hood. Nothing more.

There's just time to say goodbye to the stylists when the countdown starts. Each Tribute is directed into a glass and metal tube, which then ascends. And the countdown keeps going, a loud projected voice.

25 - 24 - 23 - 22 - 21

It's noon in the Arena, the sun brilliant on water, on cliffs, on the snow high above them. Twenty-four pedestals stand in the span of a wide tide-flat, surrounded by stony mud encrusted with oysters, cut through with rivulets of glistening water.

18 - 17 - 16 - 15

Through the middle of their circle runs a thigh-deep river, the run-off of the massive waterfall that stands a short ways back in the woods, and in the middle of that is the Cornucopia, blinding gold in the sunlight, reflecting the sea and the trees and the mountains.

9 - 8 - 7

They've all been warned, don't step off your pedestal early.

4 - 3

2

And then the gong, rolling out to echo off the cliffs and water, seeming to ring forever.


[OOC: Don't forget the OOC Arena post, especially those of you running for the Cornucopia. And here are your fellow tributes. Every single one of you ought to 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.]