The 98th Annual Hunger Games: Semi-Lit [Inactive]

[MagicPocket]

MagicPocket submitted a new role play:


The 98th Annual Hunger Games: Semi-Lit - Information and Sign-Ups

((I've hosted Hunger Games roleplays a few times before. They usually aren't very successful. But I am hopeful. :3))
As all of Panem sit in suspense theres only one thing that could cause this kind of attention. Before each District stands the Escort, sent from the Capital, dressed in their flamboyant costumes. Despite the shape of their hairstyle, the luster of their skin, artificial curves of their bodies, one thing is the same about all of them. Cameras are surrounding them, capturing the...

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@TheLovelyDead


@Aura


@explosiveKitten


@Nijoloblob


@Toxic Infinity


Below I have combined several posts together since I had already had them prewritten in the past, so instead of skipping them and going solely to the Arena, I decided to include them to give you a better representation of the characters. It is not necessary that you include all or some events leading up to the Cornucopia, but if you would like or prefer to, be my guest. I would enjoy getting to know your characters better! But, again, it is not necessary.

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Kitinger Renfroux

​

The original reason--she heard from her father when her passed it down to her after the reaping, though it was only a rumor--that it was more painful, that instead of the soft flesh of the lower ear, that may close up, the hard cartilage is slower and teaches patience and appreciation. Kitinger thought it was a load of bull when she heard it. She thought of this as she rubs the still irritated skin. A shiver ran down her spine. It was always the gnawing pain that hurt the worst, that nothing you could do would possibly make it better, if nothing else, worse. Kitinger pulled her fingers away to examine the thin smudge of blood left on her fingers. It was much at all. Nethertheless she was proud of the stud, it was a great honor. Smugly she smiled as she thought back to the moment her father gave it to her.
The look of contempt on her older sister's face was almost unbearable. But at the moment it would have been horribly inappropriate to laugh. Despite that, she was able to take subtle satisfaction, she didn't need to laugh to rub it in, it was right there in there sibling's face. Hostility, envy, rejection, chagrin are flooding and mucking up her otherwise beautiful features. This was her last year eligible for the Games, the year traditionally the head child takes their accumulated skills and training and volunteers at the age of eighteen--of course, if they are not selected before that time. Kitinger had been fighting her sister for years over the spot of head child. She hadn't heard of one story that consisted of any of her ancestors challenging the oldest, the younger siblings. So as far as she knew she was the first. In her mind, the tittle of Head Child was nothing more than a position to be earned. In general, the eldest would have the greater advantage, more developed, in depended, leading the other children. What were the other children suppose to do? Kitinger saw the leader in her sister, to say the least, even as a child Kitinger recognized she would never follow the older child. For a while Kitinger was the ring leader until it became aware that was not how it worked.


Their father, the eldest child when he and his siblings were young, saw this a experiment. He did not intervene, but even encouraged they fight each other, What wonderful experience they both must gain. Kitinger heard her father admit to her mother.


And her she was, overcoming tradition that was so often the basis of their household life. To out-do the oldest child in such a degree. With such an audacious behavior of volunteering right from underneath her sister's nose. Kitinger knew that if her sister, Bristol won, Kitinger would no longer matter, so lost in the fame of her sister, her ability would never be acknowledged, she would always be compared to the older sister. And Kitinger wasn't about to start that again. She wasn't easy, showing her sister up and surpassing her, she had to fight for the right for her sister's position to be reconsidered, and just for that took thousands of hours of extra effort on her behalf. It wasn't like she was handed the right to the head child on a silver plater. Kitinger had to fight for it, and even though it might not be a fight to the death like in the Games, Kitinger could tell just by the look on her sisters face that she was in a place worse than death. Even if, hypothetically speaking since it would be impossible idea to think she could, say Kitinger die in the Games, Bristol was in a place were she can never recover her dignity without that stain forever permanent by her younger sister.


That was a proud achievement. As her father stooped down and put both of his hands on her shoulders and gave her that fierce look in the eyes, one that was passed down the generations, and explained to her the meaning of the earring.


The train was very unlike those that took workers to the Nut in District Two. It glided along the tracks at an impressive two hundred miles per hour, but at the moment it was traveling at a must slower speed, probably to compensate for the distant difference that other districts had to travel. So for Kitinger and the male tribute of District Two, an older boy named Sly, a boy which she had never met before but was sure she saw his face before, the ride would be somewhat short and easy since the district was located so close to the Capitol.


When the train started to slow, the Capitol rising out of the landscape on one side of the train. Kitinger sat transfixed before the window, taking in the marvelous sight of it all. She'd never been to the Capitol of course. None of the tributes would have, citizens were not allowed to travel to the Capitol, it was an invitation-only kind of place, even for the wealthiest of citizens. Kitinger had heard rumors of what the Capitol looked like, but in person it paramount any sort of fantasy she might have dreamt up over the years.


Soon they were in a luxurious vehicle of some kind and being transported to the Training Center were they would spend their time in the Capitol. Ushered into the prep center, she and Luka were separated as they went to engage their personal prep teams to be prepared for the parade ceremony that evening.


Kitinger laid still and let her prep team do whatever they needed to her body, she knew it would be quicker and more efficient that way. It would be completely improfessional to complain, that is unless they were doing a shoddy job, of course. The Parade was first impression, and she had to be spectacular, it was he prep team's job to do that. And if they couldn't do that, then they were of little use to her or anyone for that matter.


She supposed, by Capitol terms, these three were "fashionable", though to her she thought they looked outlandish and ridiculous. But there make-up was flawless, colourful without being a rainbow like a most of the Capitol people she'd seen. So they seemed to have the concept of theme down, there was a method to their madness so to speak.


Kitinger waited patiently while they dyed her body to an attractive natural tone, and removed it of all blemishes. When they were done with her body and moving onto her hair, washing it and softening it with dozens of chemical products she didn't think were that necessary, she didn't question it. Kitinger sat in her chair, clothed in a robe a length of fabric sashed around her hips to close the front, ever waiting till it finished and her Stylist arrived with her costume for the evening, hoping it wasn't going to be that same as last years, and they year before that, and so one. Lost in thought she stared at her wrist where she'd once had a freckle, but now there was no trace of it. Only smooth skin with a glowing complexion.


It was several hours later after that her Stylist arrived. Kitinger's honey brown hair was now five inches longer and curled back in sweeping waves that stretched elegantly down her back. Her make-up was dynamic and dramatic, easily making her look several years older, lips a poisonous red looking colour, eyeshadow dark and smokey around her smokey-gray eye colour.


Her Stylist unveiled to her her costume. Kitinger nodded in approval, her eyebrows twitching up slightly. "I'm taking a more..." the Stylist put a finger to her chin as she fought for a word, "Untraditional approach this year. Hope you don't mind. But if you did, mind I mean, you'd have no choice anyways!"


Kitinger felt no need to dignify that quip with a response. However she had to agree. The dress was certainly untraditional by the Parade's standards. Every year, District Two was dressed as a Peacekeeper in some shape or form. This year, well, it was still a Peacekeeper's costume, sort of... It was Peacekeeper white, and thats about as far as the resembalence went. Made of light floaty silk, it was open in the back down to the waist where there was a thin white belt obscured by the folds of the dress. The front was solid and came up to encircle her neck, leaving her shoulders bare. Below the belt the silk drifted down to her ankles at uneven lengths. Her prep team zipped her into delicate high heeled white boots that extended up to her knees. Already Kitinger noted how uncomfortable the shoes were, she would be regretting standing still for the duration of the chariot ride. Her Stylist noticed her grimace in reaction to the boots, a smug smile tugged the corner of her surgically enhanced lips. So that was her game, for whatever reason, her Stylist hated her. Kitinger didn't know what for, she'd put an effort forward not to be unpleasant. But her Sylist, Floria, she'd come to learn her name, had been right. Kitinger didn't have a choice. She have to simply endure these painful shoes.


Floria looked over her hair and make-up, moving things slightly here and there, tweaked the shape of her eyebrows slightly, then when Kitinger deemed her approval, walked her out to the bay where Tributes were. She walked past a small boy dressed as what looked like a bale of hay, obviously the Stylist was too stupid to realize that District 9 was known for its wheat, not hay. The boy didn't look happy about it, but he didn't looked to thrilled to begin with. Kitinger didn't really care which way, if they were in the arena she'd stick a knife through his back with no hesitation.


As she walked, the heals clicking against the flat stone floor, her dress rippled around her, fluttering in the lightest breeze, her hair acted in a similar way, somehow with all those chemicals the prep team was able to make it light as a feather. It drifted in its waves behind her head. Kitinger followed behind her Stylist to their chariot. Though when they reacted the spot for District Two, a surprise met her. Their chariot was missing. Standing in its place we're the two brilliant white stallions who pulled the chariot, a keeper was holding the reins to the horses.


Kitinger turned to Floria, her mouth opening to say something when the Capitol woman spoke over her. "Have you ever ridden bare-back?" And there was that smile again, though it had turned into a sly mischievous one. Kitinger rose an eyebrow and shook her head. Of course she hadn't, she'd never ridden a horse before. Definitely a untraditional year. She assumed they weren't going to be riding in the chariots. It was a dangerous thing going against traditions in the Hunger Games, Kitinger wondered how Floria had ever gotten permission--or had she? But nonetheless it was too late to go back, District One was being let out in a few minutes. Two would be following them twenty minutes after that.


The keeper gave Luka and Sly pointers, demonstrating what they needed to do and so forth. Finally with five minutes to spare, the keeper hoisted her up on the horse's back, giving her last minute instructions on how to sit in what he called "side-saddle". Her Stylist began to arange her silken dress around the horse's back, while the keeper moved on to help Luka. She snuck a glance at him, sitting over on his own pure white horse, he looked very attractive cleaned up and dressed in formal white, though his costume too, was nontraditional Peacekeepers uniform. Strong, confident, assertive. Hard to think that they'd come to a fight to the death. But she was familiar with that look in his eyes that he never seemed to lose, even for a second. It the one she'd seen her father use when he was training her sister and herself. Her uncle, her father's brother, had volunteered for the Hunger Games when they were teenagers, her father then watched him die on national television weeks after. Kitinger wondered what happened to Luka to make him so serious. She herself took the Games with the upmost seriousness, despite the way she might act; however, nothing a Tribute did action wise was ever substantial when the cameras were around twenty-four-seven.


No matter. Luka volunteered like she had, he was obviously skilled, if it ever came to a fight, it would be a close one for sure. She wondered who might win in those circumstances. Kitinger looked away. Their time came up, she grasped the horse's mane the way she was shown where there was a hidden bridle, and sat up straight the way she was told. The horses started into an easy gallop, remaining side by side as if they were still pulling a chariot. Four feet apart, the horses cantered on. Kitinger put a serene smile on her face, like she'd been told, and made sure to direct it at the audience.


When the Parade was over, Kitinger felt refreshed, riding bare back was so energizing. When it was all over she didn't want to get off, and wanted to take another lap. The wind in her hair, the powerful sinuous beast beneath her, the way everything seemed to slow down and speed up around her all at the same time. But they made her get off, unfortunately telling her she and Luka had to get back to the Training Center to their rooms where they could watch the recap and see everyones reaction. So they were taken away and to their "apartment-floor" in the Training Center were she would stay with the other tribute of District 2, their mentor, and their escort for the remaining time in the Capitol.


Their on the Floor that belonged to District 2, their dinner sat waiting for them in the dinning room, freshly being served by Avox servants as they entered.

Kitinger stood several feet away from a metal and frosted glass tube, soon she'd be shot up to the surface and face the other tributes. killing wasn't a possibility, it was a fact, if given the chance she would strike, or make her own opportunity. The Blood Bath was the key place to weed out the under competition. People would die today, and none of them included her. Kitinger paced about to keep her heart rate up, shook out her hands, and breathed deeply to get the oxygen flowing in her blood. She was pumped, ready to go.


The days leading up to this moment all blended together, the Training, the alliances, the Exam, the Interview. Kitinger thought the Interview went well, she definitely set her status of an ambitious, danger-chasing kind of tribute, which was fine by her. As far as training went, it was mostly for the under competition rather than herself. She'd learned all of those skills at a young age, but I wasn't like she'd need it really if shed be with the Careers. Atlas formed her and Darius's alliances with all the other Careers. She trusted Darius about as much as she did their alliance. One could say alliances are fragile creatures born of hasty commodity, generally not very strong, and destined to be broken. In the end she'd possibly break her alliance herself with either two to three of them.


Her Stylist accompanied her to the room she now waited in. Making her break pace every now and again to touch up the light traces of makeup, or fix a lock of hair out of place from her now short hair. Cut short for her interview, her Stylist gushing how it it would make her stand out, how most girls have long hair, that she would be mysterious. Kitinger neither agreed not disagreed, she was okay with whatever her Stylist did, as long as it did not hinder her ability to fight and succeed.


She felt lighter without all that extra hair from the parade, maybe that was a state of mind, or perhaps not. She felt normal now, but somehow it helped her feel different, like she was apart of the Hunger Games, she'd have to cater to a different side of her personality. Kitinger knew the games would change her in the long run, she felt now was only the beginning to a multi-month long process. The Games were likely to last at two to three months--they usually did. The very least happened to be about five weeks, it happened when Kitinger was young, she remembered being disappointed.


Her Stylist was rubbing the middle of her back and saying comforting words, reminding her of her alliances and other tips, running fast, being tough, be relentless. Interpreting her anxiousness for nervousness. How dare she. She was a Career,She'd volunteered for this after all, if anyone was ready for the Games, it would be her. But Kitinger nodded nonetheless not particularly paying attention. She went on giving her bits of advise before an alarm slash horn of some kind pierced the air, signaling it was her time to step in the tube platform. Her Stylist gave her a kiss on both cheeks and quickly, as if she'd forgotten, pulled a tiny pin from her pocket and swiftly placed it in the girl's ear before finally stepping aside allowing Kitinger to take her place. Exactly a minute later the tube shot upwards and Kitinger was blinded by the sunlight.


Her eyes quickly acclimated while a voice spoke over the loudspeaker, welcoming them to the Hunger Games, wishing the odd ever be in their favor, then counting down from thirty since the intro had taken roughly that much time, and tributes were giving only one minute.


She kept her eyes on the Cornucopia and allowed her peripheral to rove her surroundings. They were standing on a huge elevated rock, with six arched walkways shooting out in intervals around them. Tropical blue waves rolled underneath the walkways surrounding the platform. And surrounding the water, spires of rock surrounded the platform.** She didnt look any farther than that and risk loosing her focus, she'd be able to see all of her surroundings once the blood bath was over and she continued the chase with her allies.


Kitinger lowered into a stance, ready to run the moment the clock hit zero.

Bray Hollis

​

Bray Hollis, also known as the male Tribute from District Seven, stood in his tube waiting, clutching the token in his hand. Small, warm, wooden, made of sweet and smokey smelling ceder of his forests. But even for such a small item, it had all the potential in the world. Bray knew he'd struck up a deal with the devil. But what could he do? When the man approached him, he promised so much. Bray's family needed money desperately, there was no denying that. And with him gone, they'd be in desperate trouble. It was the logical move. It was not only a finger to the capitol, but might even help a more innocent tribute win. Everything he could have hoped for. But at a hefty price. How much was morality really worth when weighed against lives of the innocent though? Not enough.


Bray's platform raised him up and fresh air swept around him. He inhaled a breathe. And for a moment, he faltered. Could he go through with it?


"It'll only sting for a second." He whispered to himself as he unclipped the ball from his belt hole. Bray took in a breathe, and locked eyes with him. The district one male. He had dead eyes. Cold, dead eyes that swept over Bray as he sneered. He was on the platform almost across to Bray, just as the man had said he would be.


Bray wound up. "For the revolution!" He roared as he let fly the small orb right at the boy's platform. The district one boy's eyes widened as he realized what would happen a millisecond before it did.


Kaboooooom. The force knocked Bray from his feet just as he knew it would, and the platform underneath him made a clicking sound as it armed the explosion. Poetic justice. Bray thought to himself, But at least they'll never go hungry again.

Baron Leer

​

Magnus is starting at me again, Baron thinks eerily, his eyes narrowing on their own accord. Magnus had done this periodically through the train ride--at least in the times they had been in the same car. And despite this, Baron can't shake the feeling of his eyes, sizing him up, totally unnerving. He'd had tried starring back of course, but that had been a failure. Baron doesn't understand why the man can't open his mouth and ask him for the answers Magnus seemed to try to be extracting from his mind with brain power. Its a ridiculous idea, but nothing else explains it. Baron suddenly just wants the man to say something, to look at something else and quite looking at him. He almost bursts this out too, his mouth is hanging open and he quickly snaps it shut with a low clicking sound. The thought occurred to him that the older man might be testing him. If it was a test Baron hoped this wasn't a skill he would have to learn how to survive, being looked at to death. Whatever Magnus was doing he was seriously putting some heat into that glare. He tried to ignore it.
He still hadn't gotten over the shock of being selected as a tribute for District 4. After a quite dinner with the female tribute from the district, Corasell Savvron, and their mentor, Magnus Fairfax, along with their escort. The rest of the time he spent in his compartment. A large and luxurious thing, so different from what he was used to, with one room to himself that was the size of his entire house back in District 4. Along with all the food they were feeding him, it seemed cruel. He resented the Capitol for it. To see how carelessly they threw around food that was so coveted in the districts. Baron had taken many tesserae to feed his family, his mother and three other siblings. After his father had drowned in a terrible storm, he'd been left as the man of the family. His only sister was older than him by a year or so, but because of her ailment, she could not fully provide for the family, Baron had taken up that duty. It had been hard leaving them. His sister promising to take care of them, no matter what. Though Baron disagreed with her choice, he believed she would, she was selfless and determined--both traits she had taught him and his siblings while growing up. Baron had promised her that he would win--survive--for her, for the family. And he meant it.


The journey was long, a full day and a half in which he spent in his compartment, avoiding Corasell. He knew her from back in the district, the problem was that he liked her, she so nice and caring, he couldn't possible imagine himself responsible for her death. Baron though that if he distanced himself from her, it wouldn't be so bad later. He sits with the heels of his hands to his temples, calloused fingers twisted in his shortish sandy blonde hair, his head bowed under the weight and stress that would triple the second they entered the Capitol.


He didn't get up and watch as the Capitol as they approached the great city. Why would he, he'd be living there for the next week or so before he was flung into the arena. Baron was hardly aware when they put him in a car and moved him and Corasell to the Training Center where he would be prepared for the Parade.


Baron was being held down at the moment. Gritting his teeth in frustration and pain, his forehead beaded with sweat. One would have thought that the Games had already started, being held against his will being tortured by cruel and unusual punishment. But here he was in the Capitol filled with non-stop luxury and entertainment, wasn't this a time to relax before the Games? The two men of his prep team were holding him down by his wrists before they realized they were too weak to hold back a teenage boy in the prime of his life who worked hauling in heavy lines and water soaked nets during the daylight hours.


They ripped off another strip of paper held to his leg by some kind of paste. Baron bolted up straight, a shout of pain through clenched teeth, sure they'd just torn the skin off his muscles. After that his Stylist, a woman named Voda and who was in charge of the operation, decided they should restrain him. They wrapped thick cloth bands around his wrists and ankles to keep him still. Voda informed him that they were removing his body hair. He replied He replied ever so kindly, "What the hell do you need to do that for! I'm perfectly fine!" She told him that it was all apart of the image she wanted to give him for the chariot. So they continued to remove the curly blonde hair from his legs until the tanned skin was a dark pink and irritable. After that they "waxed", was what they referred to it as, his arms and chest. Baron continued to wonder what exactly their goal in mind was for all this. It seemed ridiculous.


When they were done with "waxing" him, they let him soak in a tub that smelled suspiciously like oats. They washed and softened his hair during that time then styled it. He fell asleep during that part. When he woke up, his body was the colour of bronze and he looked almost statuesque. When he was fully aroused from his sleep, they dressed him in a kind a curtain of luxurious ivory colour fabric. They draped it across one shoulder and wrapped it around his hips in a kilt that went down to mid thigh. They gave his leather sandals and a had a cape made out of a gold net. On top of his head they set a headpiece make to look like a coral reef that went sat upon his head glowed with a blue light and somehow small holographic fish weaving in and out of the coral structures. The light cascaded down him making him look like the refection of light off the water's surface. Baron was wondering if he would get a prop trident or something to go with whatever look they were going for here, but lest his wish was not granted. Guess maybe they didn't allow weapons in the parade. His Stylist walked him out to the Garage Stables. She gave him a few pointers, and showed him how to stand on the chariot that appeared to be made out of gold, bronze, and pieces of coral this year. Baron sighed, knowing that, surely, he looked silly.


As soon as the two stylists walked away, Baron broke out of the ridiculous pose he was in. "No flying way in hell..." he mused. And finally he good his first good look at Corasell, who looked similar to him, he frowned. But he could see what the two District 4 Stylists goal was, sorta. He chuckled tiredly, "We must look like a mess." Without thinking he took a lock of her hair. Baron tried to ease her nerves. He gave her a smile, "It'll wear off eventually, all it is is make-up. Its all for show." To make his point he showed her his shoulder that would usually be covered in freckles, but the skin was completely clear, with was bizarre for Baron having always had them. "All this Capitol stuff - it can't last forever. And I'm sure once I get in the sun, they'll start popping back up, feels really weird without them." District 3's chariot had disappeared a few minutes before, they'd be on their way in no time.


The District 4 chariot started to move, the grey and white mottled horses automatically pulling them into a routine they'd preformed for years. "I'm fairly sure we look pretty damn weird." He saw a large screen above them with their images. "We make a good pair. In a Capitols sense of style. No matter what, I think we'll get there attention one way or another." With that he made a snap decision that went against everything their Stylists had advised them to do. He didn't assume his pose that would otherwise make him look like an idiot. Baron wrapped an arm around Corasell's waist and pulled her gently to his side. He didn't care if she was uncomfortable by it, she was so reclusive it was hard to get a read on what what going on in her head. "We decide how we shine for the Capitol. Not a couple of people who make us look like freaks before we're sent off to die." Then they were basked in blinding light, put on center stage as their chariot rode down the streets of the Capitol, their image projected up on the screens.


It was hard to say there was one reaction the citizens of the Capitol gave them as they continued through the Parade. It was a variety of emotions and reaction. Shock, awe, disbelief, approval, more surprisingly, sympathy. Baron remained a very subdued and pleasant while also exhibiting a serious collectiveness and humble demeanor as he waved up to the crowd. He tried to think of good things while he smiled, his younger brothers and sisters at home when they played little creative games to pass the long dragged out days of summer; of his older sister teasing him and telling him she was proud of him.


And the crowd ate up every second of it.


The chariot ride was over sooner than he thought, or maybe the time just pasted quickly. They were sent off to their District's floor in the Training Center. He dreaded what exactly Magnus would might say to them for directly disobeying their Stylist's instructions. Instructions their mentor, Magnus, probably gave them. Their Stylists couldn't do anything to them besides make them look hideous, but their Mentor could certainly affect the chance of survival in the arena.


Magnus sat at the head of the dinning table, his elbows folded and his chin resting on his hands in a gesture that would otherwise appear to be contemplation. And, true, he was contemplating, but that seemed to be a mild word for all the thoughts being shot around in his head at any given time. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. So much to go on. He'd watched carefully from a special viewing box during the Parade with all the other district's mentors and escorts and plethora of Capitol people who staffed the annual Hunger Games. From the lighting people, to the camera people, to the directors, to those who were reporting directly from the scene or the announcers and that. He'd watched the whole thing. Of course he'd watch the recap, his behind-the-scenes viewpoint wouldn't not be sufficient enough. And in the case with the recap he'd be able to grill his students and be able to read their reactions.


Unlike any other student tributes he's mentored in the past, these two have left him more confused and anxious to know more than any other he's ever had. Truly a phenomena he could not ignore, he would witness more in the recap, but from his personal perspective live on the scene, the Capitol's citizens had had his same reaction.


When Baron got to the floor he went off in search of his room. Which he had to note was downright luxurious and so huge he could fit his whole home back in District 4 in it comfortably. He hesitated a few steps upon entering before setting his head straight. He wanted to get out of this body paint that completely covered his body that made him a metalic shiny golden-bronze. Not bothering with the complicated knot that kept his whole "drapes and sheets" ensemble together he simply tore the ridiculous fabric away and stripped it away. Upon stepping into the shower he realized he had no idea how to operate it, the controls almost completely incomprehensible. But before he could start pressing random buttons, one of the Avox servants knocked and let himself in. He was an older man of about late forties, early fifties. Swiftly and silently - of course - he demonstrated how to use the shower.


Water showered down above his head from what felt like a waterfall, Baron nodded gratefully. He opened his mouth to thank the Avox, but the man simply shook his head and left the room. Baron frowned but continued to wash himself off of all the paint with one of the various soap options as shown to him. He washed the metallic gunk from his hair one of the soaps cutting through all of the gunk and making his hair smooth and soft after. When he was done and turned off the water, a air dryer turned on and dried him off within seconds. Baron assessed himself in the mirror, his skin had such a healthy glow, making even his tan skin just a slight shade darker though he was sure that wasn't needed. His freckles were nearly barely noticeable. As far as Baron was concerned, standing here in the Capitol, he didn't look anything like himself, but he felt more like himself than he ever had. Like things were coming together. He went into his room with his towel around his waist. Baron went through the dresser, found a pair of white slacks that looked casual enough and a button up shirt in a pale blue colour.


He became aware of Baron sitting down at the table. Magnus looked up. Baron was looking at his plate, to intentionally or unintentionally refusing to chance looking up and meeting his stare, he wasn't sure.


Baron walked into the dinning room with his sleeves up to his elbows and shirt buttoned it up three or four buttons until the collar. Not bothering to put on a pair of shoes, he went barefoot. Just because he was in the Capitol didn't mean he had to dress up for a simple dinner. Baron took a seat at the table, very aware of Magnus's eyes on him. For the second time he found himself thinking, He's staring at me. Not wanting to meet them he kept his eyes on the meal the Avox servants were serving him.


Baron was sitting across the table from Corasell. He was imagining how much more beautiful she would look if she smiled. But he couldn't expect any of that. How could he? They were in the Hunger Games now. There was nothing to be happy about.


"You just can't do that!" Baron's Stylist roared suddenly. The two strange Capitol people obviously angered that their work had been so carelessly been thrown away, seeing the two disobey them as well as washing off all the make-up as soon as they got back.


Baron stood suddenly, the force knocking his chair back. "Yes, we can." Baron's voice was as projected as loud as the two Stylists, making no attempt to spare their feelings. His jaw set, the muscles in his arms tensing and his fists clenched. "We're the one's being murdered in cold blood. You have no right to determine how any tribute lives their last few days of pea--"


"Everyone sit down!" This time it came from Magnus. The two Stylists immediately took their seats. Baron stared at him. Magnus looked more like he was searching his face rather than staring him down that no matter what, Baron wouldn't be able to overcome. After a few silent moments Baron took his seat, his chair having been rightened by an Avox. There were a another few tension charged silence before Magnus spoke again. "How did you two perceive your performance this night?"


This caught Baron off guard. He'd expected yelling and accusations. Which to a degree was what they got, but he was controlled and thoughtful rather than angry. Baron opened his mouth but it took a few moments to speak. "I thought it was... It got the crowd's attention."


Magnus Fairfax turned his attention to them both, "Its drama, its the tension, its the message, the innocence. That is what the Capitol craves, what the Gamemakers synthesize artificially in the arena for their entertainment. That is the Hunger Games, to the Capitol, the Games is nothing but the biggest most awaited event of the year, meaning the best entertainment there is. Even as the standards of the Capitol go, they need someone to root for during the Games, someone to put their hope and desires in. They need people like you, you two. You are everything the Hunger Games is about."


Baron didn't look completely convinced. He was sure Magnus would have been furious with them. "Wouldn't we be targets to the Gamemakers? We've just proven that we have the ability to break the rules. What do you say for that?"


"I'd say you have a lot to learn." Magnus snickered, a short crystal glass containing a dark amber liquid to his lips. He took a swallow and tipped his head to the side with a smile. Baron's features tightened at both being called incompetent and dismissed for the Capitol's fancy alcohol. "Always miss Capitol whiskey." Magnus raised a hand of appease. "You have to understand that what the Gamemakers might see as a threat, the Capitol's citizens see as endearment. The Gamemakers operate solely for the citizens. Everything they do is for them, their entertainment. The only way you can ensure your safety is proving yourself so valuable to the Gamemakers by making the citizens form an attachment to you."


Baron was sitting on a comfortable cushioned bench in the small compartment, a thick metal door to his right, an evil looking frosted glass tube to his left, and his Stylist in front of him. He was bent over his knees with his palm pressed against his forehead, fingers curling in his hair uneasily. His Stylist, a man with bright yellow hair flopped to the side like it was a hat, was kneeling in front of him, trying to re-style his hair as Baron messed it up. The man's fingers were adjourned with jewelry, his wrists heavy with precious metal for, from what Baron could tell, was to hide his naturally small feminine wrists. Did people like Stylists really get self-conscious? While this question wasn't precisely the pinnacle of philosophical thoughts, it drove him away from the more serious matter at hand, a fact that he was trying to get his mind off of. Within moments he would be entering the place where he would die.


The last few days went by fairly swiftly, a total of five days in the Capitol. Five very short days. The first day was one that he spent on the train, where he regrettably sat contemplating his position and his fate. The second was taken by his transformation from the callused and seasoned fisherman to the raw contestant of the Hunger Games suitable for the overindulged eyes of the Capitol citizens, fit to be ridden around like a trophy and shown off like a shiny new toy. The third day and the two days after that he spent in the Training Center learning as much as he could in his allotted time, experience with things that he had never dreamed of. Who knew he'd ever need to spear a human being with a trident rather than sea life. The fourth day he spent with Corasell, Magnus giving them advice and mapping out their strategy for the games, then preparation again, then they had their interviews.


Baron was wearing one of the most sensible outfit his Stylist had dressed him in yet. Dressed in a sleek dark navy suit, his white dress shirt was tucked in but was unbuttoned at the top, and there was a dark red rose set into the front of his blazer making his naturally tanned skin pop against the dark bringing out the golds and reds in his dark blonde hair. On his que, he walked out on the stage nearly stunned by the vast amount of people spanning the crowd. They were all applauding so he took that as a good thing, still reacting on nerves, but nonetheless let a grin rolled on his lips. He ran a hand through his hair and thought about how his Stylist was probably dying seeing his carefully masterpiece of a hairdo destroyed in one moment of nerves. Flickman must have already introduced him to the crowd as he was standing. Baron grasped the man's hand and covered it with his own sincerely. "You're doing well, don't worry," Caesar assured him quietly in his ear then stepped back. Baron waved to the camera, flashing his naturally and unnaturally white teeth in a warm smile. They both took a seat and the crowd calmed, Baron ran a hand through his hair again. "Baron, you must be nervous," the orange haired man said, gesturing to Baron's mess of a hairdo. He quickly checked the screen behind him but didn't see anything wrong, he looked like himself, or what he looked like when he was out on the ocean air with the wind blowing. "Your Stylist must be having a heart attack!"


Baron smiled. "One by one, one hair at a time, you know. Perfectionist's trade is hair." The crowd echoed Caesar's chuckle. "Sure, laugh now, you weren't the one sitting in the chair for two hours," he laughed himself.


"It's true! I spend about three hours a day on my hair alone!" Caesar agreed, "But it's so worth it, can't you tell?" After a moment of the crowd reassuring him he looked great, the man got back on track. "So tell us about yourself, Baron Leer." Caesar prompted with smile, folding his hands in his lap.


"Where do you want me to start. I'm sure we don't have time to work through eighteen years of my life."


"And what a fascinating story, wouldn't that be," he looked out to the crowd, smiling, opening his arms in an invitation. The crowd responded helpfully.


Baron nodded. "Well, In a family of four I'm the second oldest child. But since my old man died in a storm when I was thirteen and being the only boy in a household of ladies I had to take on his role as the provider. My older sister was born a weak child, she did the best she could to watch after us and to help her mother, but she would dress and sell the fish I brought home when on a job with some fisherman who had a boat. They taught me how to sail and catch fish and earn money for my family. But I never really thought of it as a job, like I've always say, the ocean is my second home." Baron could feel the clock ticking down and Caesar winding the conversation down to bring them out on time, so quick as a whip Baron stepped his foot in. He spread his arms out to rest along the top of the couch. "So how'd I do? I admit, I get a bit of stage fight."


"You?" Caesar asked, faking astonishment, "Why, my dear boy, I couldn't imagine a strapping young man like yourself would be scared of anything, not to mention something as standing in front of an audience!" The crowd shouted their approval. Baron hopped he kept them entertained. At least a few of them would be helping him out eventually.


Baron ignored the last part about the fear. Instead he leaned his head back carefree and laughed. "Strapping young man," he quoted. "How very generous of you Caesar. But it's true." He sat up and flexed his arms for the cameras. Confident and able-bodied, isn't that what these otherwise lazy Capitol people wanted? Admitting his fears on a national broadcast that his fellow tributes would eventually see, like hell.


Caesar laughed loudly, the audience echoing him. "Well, it looks like thats about all the time we have. Anything left you'd like to say?" the flamboyant orange-haired man inquired.


Baron looked directly into the camera as if he were looking into District four, like he were looking directly into their village, like he were looking into the home he'd been forcibly taken from to compete in such trivial games. He took a deep breath. "Nare, Kenne, Reg, stay safe. Maggie, get better, its up to you now." He patted his left arm where he always wore the leather band that his three youngest sisters made for him years ago. His lips tightened into a line. I love you, he thought to them. Goodbyes were over. With that, he turned and walked off the stage, shoving his hands into his pockets. The Games have started.

Sitting there waiting for the gong to signal their time to enter the tube then the Games would finally begin. The reality of it all was beginning to crash down on him, and he was struggling to hold on. His Stylist was making shushing noises in attempts to make him calm down. "Hun, shush, its okay. Every Tribute reacts like this. Its normal."


Baron looked up at him, his expression hard. "What is wrong with you?" he said disgusted. "Since when is it normal to send kids to their death and watch them die just because it's "fun"." He pushed off from his bench, the man getting knocked back. He could feel it counting down. The clock. Dressed in nice pair of boots of an interesting material, with thick rubber soles narrow enough to be practical to run it. A pair of pants tucked into his books, consisting of a mixture of thick dark material he was sure to be thankful for when the temperature dropped at night. He was wearing a lightweight jacket of rainproof quality with a hood, underneath that a tight long sleeve shirt with a neck that extended up below his jaw. This would be what all the tribute would be wearing into the arena, identical except for size. This made him wonder what their environment would be. Mindlessly he rubbed his left arm as if making sure it was there.


Balmy air, not hot, not cool. When the wind blew across his face as he was lifted up through the tube, the breeze felt warm and full of moisture. It was a feeling he knew well. They were near water, and judging by the rushing sound below around them, there was a river. Baron inhaled the fresh air determining that it was not salt water. He quickly found the Cornucopia, and with a swift glance around him everyone else was eying it fiercely.


Baron remember what Magnus had told him. The man had told him that he was confident he would survive the Bloodbath, if he chose to do so. Baron could survive off the water, but eventually he knew he would have to engage the Careers and others and there would be no way to get to weapons or supplies once the Bloodbath was said and done with. The difference being that here, the Careers would have a distraction at least and he'd have a better chance at getting away.


Holographic numbers lit up over the Cornucopia, counting down the seconds while a voice counted aloud. But there was a different glint caught his eye from one of the Tributes from across the ring. A small ball flying through the air. Baron watched it happen with wide eyes. He looked away at the last moment, but he could feel the power of the blast in his chest coupled with the searing heat. Death would have been instantaneous for the both of them. But he didn't have any time to think over this as the clock hit zero and the sound of the gong rung through the area. Baron wasted no time, it was game time, this was the best, though probably not the smartest, opportunity he would get, and he had to get supplies. At least not for him, but his alliance.

Jett Sixto

​

A name was called out. One that belonged to a female. But Jett hardly noticed. Some average girl, nothing remarkable about her, hugging and holding and crying into the shoulders of friends and family. This whole ordeal was such a waste of time. The escort ordered the crowd to quiet down before he read off the name of the male tribute from District 3. "Jett Sixto!" Cried out the escort in his affected Capitol accent.
He felt the camera's hone in on him as his "peers"--though they were hardly his equals--turned to stare at him. There was a murmur of confusion in the crowd, until Jett realized he still had on a face of boredom on his face. Obviously boredom was not a...typical reaction to being condemned to fight to the death against all odds. He forced a look of surprise on his face, like perhaps he was slow and the realization he was about to die had just dawned on him. Well good. Better to be the slow unintelligent tribute from District 3 rather than an over confident fool from one of the Career districts, or any other of the sad and pathetic weepy tributes from any district. And already it had been decided how he would play these games, he would fein and bluff his way into the finals. This Hunger Games might actually be interesting this year. Mapping out his strategy would prove to be a worthy challenge that he welcomed with open arms.


He was vaguely aware of being ushered into the Justice Building into a room. His mother's eyes were red and puffy, streams of tears staining her cheeks, both of his parents arms around him. He supposed he should feel himself lucky, having both of his parents, two caring people, naive as they were. They were saying words of reassurement and encouragement, but he couldn't care less than he was at that moment. Jett didn't care if he never saw them again, he'd never really had a particular attachment to them, but they paid that no attention. Finally Peacekeepers showed up and he was ushered out to the train. There in the train he spent looking out the window, gazing at the ever changing landscape and formulated a game-plan with nothing but victory in mind.


In what seemed like no time at all, they were finally at the Capitol. Jett pondered over the architecture and the grand layout of the city. Easily formulating a map in his head and storing it in his vast photographic memory. He found the culture here interesting from the studying aspect, but otherwise, he personally found it foolish and conceited.


His final destination was the Training Center, where he was taken to his prep team who he found to his dismay to be irrevocably full of pep and utterly shallow. Jett was irritated beyond belief after ten or so minutes of them. So the torture began.


Jett kept his stoic as his prep team prepared him for the Parade. He supposed he should feel exposed and embarrassed but he didn't. He refused to let these simpleminded idiots get to him no matter what they decided to do. They were quite unimaginative with their costumes in District 3. What could one really do with the technology district after ninety eight years. However he found out when they started to paint his skin a luminous metallic green, detailed with fine lines. A circuit board, really? If possible at all, his opinion of his Stylist and prep team dropped further even. They had him dressed in basically nothing but a pair of skin-tight shorts which they painted over as well. Had he had any sense of respect or reputation back in his district he was sure he'd be fearing for it right about now. His skin polished, and flawless under the flourencent-like dye. The only thing natural about him was his eyes, and naturally they were green, though it was a pale shade rather than the bright eye irritating colour he was wearing.


His Stylist took his arm, leading him to the Garage. He supposed she might have been pretty, she looked to be about early twenties, a little thing full of energy, but with all the "extra effects" it took away. Her hair was wild and full of complicated curls the white-blond hair streamed with green. Green jagged design tattoos stretched from the base of her chin down her neck, down her arms, down to the individual tips of her fingers. He resisted the urge to pull his arm from her grasp but felt like he wouldn't be doing himself any favors by that little act. Let the woman do what she wants, holding firm to his promise to his self. When they arrived at the Garage she stopped him in the doorway, the open cavern beyond them filled with tributes and chariots getting ready for the Parade. She removed her arm from his and instead took up one side of his face. She pressed her lips to his dyed green ones. "Green is my favourite colour." she said simply in her affected Capitol accent, though she made a noticeable attempt to hide it for some reason. Jett was unfazed. He cocked an eyebrow. "No advice. No telling me how exactly I should stand and pose on the pedestal to show off your masterpiece?" he asked, his tone flat. He laid his hand on top of hers and removed it casually from his face. She murmured something about indeed a masterpiece. "You don't need it, you can think for yourself," she replied, "Green is the colour of luck." She squeezed his hand. "Remember that." Then she turned and strode off.


Jett's expression contorted into one of disapproval as she walked off. He turned around and went off to find his chariot and join his fellow District 3 tribute.


Jett sat down at the dinning table less than gracefully. He'd finished up washing the paint and whatever else his blundering prep team had "decorated" him with. He felt the need to want to burn the hideous clothing after he'd stripped them away, feeling like no human being had committed such a crime to be forced to where such uncomfortable, irritating, ill-fitting, eye-numbing clothing. Jett thought he was just imagining it, what with his utter aversion to the costume get-up, that he thought that after a while it started burning his skin. That was impossible. Surely they wouldn't use acidic paint on them. After he'd scrubbed himself raw, he'd discovered the Capitol's new skin tone for him which turned out to be a dark reddish-brownish-russet-tan colour that was hard to describe. It contrasted with his short pitch black hair and his light pale green eyes.


In his bed room suite he found a grey sweater laid out for him with black pants and a pair of soft black leather dress shoes. He slipped them on and went out to the dinning room to eat. He took his place at the table and immediately dug in. He had a hard time getting food and living off of it. He seemed to require to eat so much more than others. That was a problem for him back in his District when food was harder to come by, and would be even moreseo difficult in the arena, but here in the now in the Capitol with wonderful plentiful delicious Capitol food, he was fine with that.


"So what do you think of our Capitol. Wonderful thing, technology." Caesar grinned broadly. Jett reacted with a cool smile of his own as if he were only mildly entertained, like other more important things he would have captivate his attention than this. "Is that what your dates tell you after you get a new set of lips?"


The crowd didn't need Caesar's permission to laugh at that, but the man joined them and laughed at himself. "Its true!" Which recived another wave of laughs. Jett sat back with a bored smile on his lips. Caesar Flickerman was there to help out the tributes, to bring out the best of their personality. Jett would accept nothing of the sort, he worked on his own. "What do you think of our spectacular city? But it is, after all, made with the fine technology invented in your district."


"Correct you are, sir. We make just about everything in our factories." He adjusted himself in his chair so he was leaning forwards toward Caesar and the camera. "But what I think is most amazing…" He paused, "What's most amazing is how little of our own technology we use in our district. Or any other district." His smile slowly disappeared, his pale green eyes becoming more intense.


"Wonderful thing that technology is. You haven't aged a day since I could remember watching the television when I was two years old. That was thirteen years ago. I remember it back then because I remember there was an explosion at one of our factories. Our neighbor lost his leg and I remember thinking, "Why couldn't they give mister Waldwin a new leg like they can mister Flickerman a new face every year." Jett knew he'd just crossed a line. I fine line he treaded carefully and would most likely get him killed. But he wasn't one to get caught in one of his own traps. How highly illogical, the one to set it should be the one to best maneuver it. The crowd was quiet. Jett burst out into laughter. Caesar joined him lightheartedly. "Ah, the look on your faces." Jett remarked, pretending to wipe a nonexistent tear of laughter from his eye. He calmed quickly, returning a slightly more enthused smile. "Learn to be less serious. I heard you live longer that way. Mister Flickerman can tell you that."


"Oh, you got us good, Mr. Garinger! Didn't he! What a jokester." There was a moment of laughter across the crowd as the serious mood lifted.


Jett put back on that same smile again. "Kids say the darnest things." Relaxed back in his seat, legs folded loosely, hands collected in his lap. A bell rang and the crowd applauded. Jett couldn't be sure why, he'd just insulted the Capitol several times, the people here must really be ignorant. What a nice world that would be to live in.

Jett plucked at the material dressing his legs. It was thick, stretchy, and only slightly loose rather than forming exactly to his frame. He wondered what purpose his new clothes met, what environment lay beyond the curving walls of rock surrounding the wide earthen platform on which the Cornucopia was centered. The Tributes' platforms were disks risen slightly out of the ground, altogether they formed a large circle that enclosed the Cornucopia's goods at the center. He had committed a map of the area to his memory, something his brain did without a thought. The clearing was surrounded on two sides by the walls of rock opposite from each other, the two open sides, one lead out to a sea or wide scrawling lake, the other a stream that fed around the clearing and off into forest. There was a short chain of two explosions, one must've set off a the landmines somehow, Jett didn't bother with it, they didn't matter now, that only meant there were two less tributes. He plucked at the fabric again, this didn't seem like the outdoorsy kind of stuff he'd seen in past games...


A gong sounded signalling the end of the countdown and the beginning of the tournament. Without a moment's hesitation, Jett spun and ran off his pedestal, running for one of the rock paths off the clearing and over the stream below. The Cornucopia was an opportunity for all, just not Jett. He was confident in his running ability, but he was no skilled fighter. He could run fast and take that chance at picking up one of those packs, but break his legs and he'd be going nowhere. But if there was one thing he could rely on, it was his intelligence. And he was intelligent enough to run away and get his head start in the woods. Granted, this would only be delaying his inevitable death, he wasn't naive to believe he was going to win this thing, however, he wasn't going to give up.

Hale Pax

​

Since the reaping, Hale hadn't said one word. He hadn't need to, no one spoke to him. Though if someone had he wasn't sure what he might say back to them. He guessed it was understandable that a tribute would be speechless in shock. The only person that had spoken to him after the reaping was his escort, and that was to tell him and the other girl of theirschedualed. However he had only responded with a nod. But before that, no one ever spoke to him. He was an orphan, strandedany his parents when he was no more than a baby. Since then he was treated almost like an outcast, a boy no one paid a second thought to, now they didn't have to worry, because Hale wouldn't be coming back. Twelve years old wasnt an unseen age in the game, but he knew that twelve was an impossible age, not against those that were older than him.
Now on the train that would take him to the Capitol, Hale wasted no time there. He sat and gorged himself on the fine delicacies until he was stuffed, would wait, and go back into the dinning car for more. Never had he had food of such quality and quantity before. He definitely wouldn't pass up this chance


When the train rolled to a stop at the destination, Hale marveled over the beauty of the place. Would it be so bad to die here after being indulged in such luxuries? He had nothing to live for, so he would take up this opportunity in a heartbeat.


"Is there anyone special back home to whom you'd like to say something to,"


"No," he told Caesar, focusing on the bright orange blob of hair on the man's head instead of the piercing eyes.


"Then tell me, who came to see you to say goodbye?"


Looking down at his clasped hands laying in his lap, "Nobody came."


"Oh, you poor child, you mean to tell me there is no one who would miss you?"


"I'm a mistake, I was given away. I've got nothing to go back to…No one would miss me."


Caesar's matching orange eyebrows drew together in empathy, "Are you angry with your parents?"


Again Hale shook his head. "I understand their decision…I don't blame them…"


Caesar looked out into the audience and they shared a massive 'aww…' as if it were choreographed, but Hale knew it wasn't, the man before him was just that kind of person, everyone wanted to be like him to agree with what he said. "Don't you worry, my dear boy, I'm sure all of us will be rooting for you." He turned in his seat to address the audience, "I'm know I will, how about you all?" The crowd was eager to respond in agreement as well as throwing out random words of encouragement. The orange-haired man turned back to the boy, the audience falling silent behind him, hanging on his next words, the mood falling serious again. "Hale , I must ask…" He paused, the room growing heavy with anticipation. "What was the first thing you thought when your name was called?" It took Hale a while to answer, he rubbed his thumb across the back of his hand. Then he picked up his head and meet Caesar's eyes for the first time.


Hale said in a small voice, "I was glad."


For what was probably the first time in the history of all interviews, Caesar Flickerman was taken aback by the young child's words. For a moment, even he didn't know what to say. A single piece of footage rolled on the multiple big screens behind the stage, the moment where Hale ' name was called, and the brief flash of what looked like a brief flash of…relief cross his face before it went back to the hollow expressionless one of the boy that sat in front of the camera's in the present. A moment of shock and awe seemed to pass through all of Panem, as the child sitting in that beautiful plush air chair admitted he didn't want to live anymore, that he was happy to die than go back to his district. Luckily Caesar was saved by the bell, the gong sounded and the man eased into a dismissal with a finesse considering what had just happened. He invited the crowd to a warming exit applause, and they reacted with gusto after that moving performance. Because, to the people of the Capitol that's all it was. A show.

Hale was trembling, his palms sweaty, heart pounding like mad against his ribs. The platform rose up, he looked around at the other tributes positioned in a circle around the Cornucopia, they all looked so serious, so ready. Why couldn't he be ready like that? His eyes fell on the Cornucopia and its goods stacked high in the air. He was vaguely aware of a voice counting down numbers. There, he saw it, a sword laying on a crate, if only he could get to it, he was the fastest runner he knew, he could make it there first, he could run away then, and he could protect himself.


There was an explosion and he whipped an arm in front of his face to shield from the blast of heat and sound that hit him. He looked at the two pedestals where those two Tributes had been standing. Breath sawed in and out of his lungs like he'd just run a marathon, the metal and ground around it was covered in a dark red substance a mixture of fresh blood and carbon. He clenched his eyes shut before he could see any more.

 

[MagicPocket]

MagicPocket updated The 98th Annual Hunger Games: Semi-Lit with a new update entry:


Combat and Cornucopia!

THE GAMES HAVE BEGUN!
So to alleviate some confusion and to cause more, here's how we're going to do shit.


Combat Rules, and I expect them to be followed as best as possible as godmodding and bunnying is so easy to do, here are some guidelines [not so much as rules, really]. Most of you probably already know this, but whatevs.

• There is no controlling other people's actions. Just like real life, you can't use mind control to make people do something against their wishes. You can't...

Read the rest of this update entry...

 

[Aura]

His mind was racing what felt like hundreds of miles per hour... if minds could run of course. What an odd phrase. Luka gave his head a slight shake to clear the wandering thoughts from his head. Now, was not the time to lose focus. He had gotten this far with a laser-like precision with each and every decision dedicated to bringing him to this exact moment. Every moment had been dedicated to making sure that he could get out of this arena alive and now he couldn't afford to lose focus.


He shuffled off into the tube and he felt a flush of excitement run up his spine as his feet touched the inside of the tube and he heard the vaguely metallic swishing noise of the tube sealing. What sort of wonders were waiting for him in the Cornucopia? He wished that he knew already because it would help him immensely. He would be overjoyed if there was a whip there but he couldn't use it right away if it was there. Whips were a useful weapon but they weren't exactly a quick weapon and the Bloodbath was about speed. Luka knew that he needed to dispatch his enemies swiftly while in the Cornucopia. He could use the whip later when he had a little more time to enjoy himself, but the Bloodbath wasn't called such because people were afforded the luxury of taking their time to think things over. One mistake (such as grabbing the wrong weapon or item) could cost anyone their life and Luka came to the conclusion that a sword or some blade would be ideal. Any injury no matter how small he could get on any of his enemies had the potential to become infected. Cuts and abrasions were far more helpful to him in the long run than bruises and welts.


The platform he was standing on gave a hesitant lurch before he felt it begin to rise. He was sure his styling team was waving enthusiastically or sobbing but he didn't glance back at them. He was too busy eagerly looking at the growing crack of sunlight filtering in through the top of his tube. He hadn't intended to but Luka raised his arm to shield him from the growing light. Just before he had adjusted to the light he removed his hand from his face. What a mistake that was, he internally grimaced. His face had remained composed in his stony mask so he wondered if shielding his eyes briefly had communicated weakness like he believed it did. Impressions were everything and he wanted everyone to believe that he was an emotionless killing machine. It would help with donations if his resolve never wavered.


Luka's eyes shifted over the Cornucopia greedily taking stock of what he could. He was momentarily aligned with the other Careers because of Atlas's intervention so he also made a mental note of what they looked like and where they were located. He hoped that they intended to focus on taking the Cornucopia with him. If their muscles so much as twitched towards him in the Cornucopia he wouldn't hesitant to dispatch them and he hoped that if they knew what was best for them that their loyalty would remain until the Bloodbath was over. He wouldn't be the one to break their alliance no matter how fragile he perceived it to be.


He saw something glittering amongst the spoils. There it was. He funneled his attention towards whatever blade that was. Would that be the first blade whose blood-lust would be sated? Luka's muscles tensed as he waited for the games to begin, ignoring the explosion of two other tributes. Guess that blade wasn't going to claim the first victim after all... only twenty-one other tributes needed to die.


--


It felt as if she had blinked and she was here. Brie's stomach plummeted as she was nearly shoved into the tube and she wasn't comfortable with how tenuously her food sat in her stomach. Was she about to vomit in the tube? It gave a small lurching movement and for a moment she was certain that she would.


Brie flew back to her styling team and she pressed herself against the glass desperately hoping that somehow if she wanted it badly enough that she could press herself through the tube and back into the outside world. She was so young! Why was she condemned to die? She hadn't done anything with her life yet and... she stifled a wrenching sob and she felt her shoulders seize as every muscle in her body became dedicated to keeping the tears and her food inside of her.


"Help me!" she shrieked suddenly desperate. Their altered and colourful face pulled into the appropriate sympathetic expressions but they did nothing to help as her platform began to rise. Her heart seemed to stop for a minute and she was shocked when it came thundering back in her ears. How did she not just die from the stress?


At least her tomb looked pretty enough... until it seemingly exploded before her into a wall of smoke. When the first two tributes exploded she couldn't restrain her tears. She should have stepped off of the platform. Her death was surely guaranteed. The Cornucopia glared menacingly at her and she took in a shallow breath with rattling lungs as she wiped off some of the tears that were streaming down her face.

 

[MagicPocket]

MagicPocket updated The 98th Annual Hunger Games: Semi-Lit with a new update entry:


ROLL CALL

I will keep this updated, but this is where I will have status of the characters and I might add in alliance information if needed later. Anyways I named the NPCs, in case anyone would like to talk to them or refer to them. If you don't want to thats fine, they may be referred to as "that district eight girl".
I would say that anyone could play them with the exception of fighting/killing them.


Don't nobody has my permission to slaughter my NPCs! For now. PM me if you want to kill some. We...

Read the rest of this update entry...

 

[explosiveKitten]

Cross narrowed her eyes against the harsh sunlight, and shielded them for a bit, at least until her eyes adjusted. The Cornucopia shone in the sunlight, and the ground was sand. "A desert? Ugh, this is going to be great..." She said to herself with a sigh. It'll be hard to find anythin with healing properties, if nessecary. She heard an explosion and shielded herself from the flying shrapnel. Two tributes had run off their plates. "And another one bites the dust..." She said in a sing-songy voice.


She could see faces in the gleam of the Cornucopia, faces of men long dead. She found herself transfixed by it, her mouth open slightly as she stared, then she blinked and the faces were gone. She was confused at first, then she said to herself. "Oh. Another hallucination. Great. Just what I need." She brought her hands to her face and rubbed vigorously. The contacts her stylist had given her before she had gone in were seriously irritating. Her eyes burned, but for once she didn't need her glasses to see. She could see farther than she could before. She could see the weaponry in the Cornucopia. Axes, bows, knives, and a sword. Awww yeah, thats for me. She thought with an inward smile.


Gratiott rose up in time to see two other tributes explode. They had suicided? I guess thats one way to avoid being killed... Killing yourself. He didn't have the guts to do something like that. His eyes drifted to the girl beside him, Brie? Was that her name. She was visibly panicking. Oh no, don't do that, they'll target you first... She reminded him of his little sister... He shook his head. Can't think about that right now. Get an ax, protect yourself, survive. He watched the countdown, ready to run for the Cornucopia.


His thoughts drifted back to the days before... He had sure been a show-off with that ax in training. He thought he caught the attention of the Careers, but he wasn't sure is he wanted to align with Careers. They would probably try to kill him when he'd outdone his use. I'm not good at making friends. Too cynical for that, I guess.

 

[Toxic Infinity]

Bihlar, the District 1 psycho tribute, was blankly staring at tube awaiting the command to enter her death bed. She wasn't a girl to worry though, it was actually one of the few benefits of going nuts; she didn't mind any danger, and when things got harder, she became more intense. She understood the game was practically a big blood offering like those weird people way back when. Clearly she didn't want to die, but if it meant to be relieved of her mental problems, she might actually agree to death. Hopefully it was slow, she always liked the pain, it almost soothed her. Bihlar wasn't able to make enough alliances though. Of course, she really didn't want one in the first place, but then again, maybe it was worth it.


Once Bihlar heard the faint opening of the door she jumped in the tube, almost knowing that it was time to go up. After that she started to feel the ground shift, she was finally going up into the arena, the day she had been thinking of for half of her life. She gave some sort of creepy like smile as her eyes seemed to adjust to the bright sunlight. When she saw her opponents she giggled, they didn't seem much of a fight, though of course she hadn't seem them actually fight yet, but she still liked to pretend that things weren't a big problem. She was looking around a bit at her surroundings when some other District tribute threw a bomb towards the male District 1 tribute that was standing with her. She almost laughed. Bihlar was most definitely needing help, but the risk was so intriguing. After thinking for awhile she looked down to see water. "Hm." she simply huffed and sat down on her platform. She wasn't looking forward to running, it seemed a bit of a bore. She might even die already if she was lucky. But the odds didn't seem in her favor since she was still breathing.


When the clock was ticking she looked down at her ring. She almost seemed to 'miss' home, but that was highly unlikely since she barely had much emotion left in her. But then again, there are those weird things called 'miracles', right? She watched as more tributes started to come up from their tubes and stand there, either panicking like one other girl did, or watching for the right weapon to kill for. Once Bihlar finally realized that she should probably find a weapon to choose before it was gone, she looked straight at the bow. "Delightful." she said to herself as a grin reached her lips.


Zelix was sitting against the glass of the tube awaiting some sort of interest to arouse him to enter it. All he wished was that he could walk off, back to his home, District 12, and leave the Blood Bath before it could even begin. Sadly, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon and his Stylist even told him the same thing. As he was commanded to stand up to put the last 'finishing touches' on his face Zelix looked at the tube, almost calling his name. He could just step in and enter the game at any time, but no, Zelix wanted to relax and calm himself before anything happened. He gave a half smile to the Stylist and then walked into the tube awaiting certain death. It was clear to him that he might be the first of many to die, since he lacked much skill in anything. But he was great at stealing supplies. Oh the stealing, it was almost like a calling to him. Though nothing would be much of an interest for him in the arena, but it was always a good back up plan if someone already grabs a weapon or piece of supplies that he needs or wants. Though he knew he needed something else, or he would honestly be the guy to die first.


When the tube started to rise he waved calmly at the Stylist who seemed to give an awkward smile to give comfort. But Zelix knew that smiles from Stylists were literally smiles of a permanent good bye. After Zelix finally looked up to see the bright light from the arena he saw the first man to go down. "Thank God." he said to himself as he scratched the back of his neck looking a bit comforted. Apparently he wasn't the first to go down, but sure enough he would be the second, or the middle, or maybe he was wrong and he would live to see his family again. Though it all seemed like a lost cause when he realized this was his final moments to make a plan, and a good one at that. But it didn't seem hard for him, it was one of his few skills, stealing and plan making. Although this wasn't going to be his average plan, it had to be good, full proof, or else his death was awaiting him, and he was sure it wasn't going to be pleasant.

 

[Monokuma]

Historia waited in that tube as the time seemed to go on forever as she watched her styling team weep. She remained stoic, as always. She attempted to keep her wits about her. There'd be no sense in getting all scrambled up in the midst of a bloodbath. She'd seen the games start. A terrifying experience it truly was. Memories of Reaping Day flooded her mind. The words of her father, the tears of her sister, and even the sights from the train as she was hauled of to the Capitol. The sounds and sights were clear and heavy in her thoughts, the sounds of the tube ringing ever so gently outside.


Next thing Historia knew, she was standing on the platform and being blinded by the light in the sky. She watched the other tributes, secretly feeling sorry for them. Winning was the only thing on her mind. Without winning, it would be failure, and the one thing that was never tolerated in the Leone family was failure. Maybe she would finally fnd an alliance in her life, something to prevent failure until the final round. Maybe she could even become a legend after this. Historia Leone, district ten: The Impossible Girl. Of course, that would require winning first..

 

[Lutalica]

Corasell Savvron


"You can do this.." she whispered as she clenched her fists. "You will win." she replied to herself, but her words seemed to fade. It seemed unlikely that she would win. Too many of the tributes would easily look at the lay out of the arena and figure out what they need. Unlike Corasell who just wanted to grab a trident and go. Though her alliances were strong enough, and their training was much more sufficient. She had the survival skills that most tributes might lack, and she, out of all people, was determined that if she ever had to die, it would be in the arena.


When her Stylist looked at her, calmly fixing her white hair, he had some sort of sadness in his eyes. "Your strong, Corasell." he said, whispering in her ear. She gave a smile, actually it was one of the few times she ever smiled since her brother died. Corasell turned around and looked at the glass tube that was waiting to take her to the arena. Technically she could have just run out, although it wouldn't have worked considering that it would last for at least five seconds until someone realized she was out. Besides, she honestly wanted to be in the games. It was her form of revenge, and if it worked, she could win.


After placing her first foot in she looked back at her Stylist who was standing there with a smile. "Thanks." she said as she was completely in the tube. She looked down at her bracelet that he placed on her wrist, it was the only thing left of her brother, and by no means would she ever look at it again. The bracelet was a door to her emotions, and she swore she left them behind. But at any point in time, someone would spark her emotions, and the pain would come rushing in like before.


She felt the tube push her up into the arena. Corasell took a deep breath in and felt the sting go through her lungs. When her eyes adjusted to the atmosphere around her she noticed her opponents. She had no intention to die today, and if people tried to get in the way of that, she would kill them first. Corasell looked around and saw water, oh the water. It glistened and seemed to call her name. But she needed a weapon first, not water. She looked back to the Cornucopia and smiled. The trident was set against the silver wall, just sitting there. She started to give off a smile, since suddenly it seemed to become a habit, and stood ready for the clock to hit zero.





Baylix Queue





Baylix was standing with full confidence by the tube. He wanted to win, no, he had to win. If Baylix wasn't able to win, he swore that he would die a fighting tribute. Sadly, Baylix's head was a bit high up in the clouds to notice you had to have strategy, not full confidence, not a stubborn attitude, you had to have smarts, and that was something Baylix lacked. He wanted to prove that he was better than everyone else, but he didn't seem to understand that, that shouldn't be the first thing on his mind. He smiled and walked into the tube when he was ready. He wanted to kill everyone and everything, while still not getting killed himself.


The tube brought him up to the platform, and Baylix would have run to the Cornucopia immediately if he didn't realize that there was a clock counting down to start. He shook his head and watched some tributes panic as they rose to their platform. He smirked as he saw some District 1 tribute sit as if nothing was going on while another was just killed. He chuckled a little and looked towards the female tribute for his District. Honestly she didn't look too worried, but nobody can tell anymore. One girl peaked his interest. She was from District 2. He guessed she wasn't worried at all if she lived or died, but it seemed that she was determined she wouldn't die. Baylix finally stopped his inspection and stared at the collection of weapons. There looked to be a whip laying on a silver box, hopefully, if nobody else thought to take it, Baylix would finally get his weapon of choice.

 

[MagicPocket]

Kitinger Renfroux




​

Kitinger's heart quickened. The Countdown began and thirty so slowly became twenty. She could feel each breath as every seemed so slow to a crawl, her vision sharpening on the Cornucopia and her prize, a sword under a stack of heavy supplies and crates. All the tributes were gathered around in a perfect circle surrounding the great silver metal structure. Ten. She didn't notice the explosion, only the smoke that began to cloud the air and its effects on her battle strategy. Five. Every muscle in her body was tensed in preparation. Four. Her fists clenched. Three. The heel of her back leg poised off the plate. Two. Eyes tightened, her only thought on that glittering thing amongst the pile. One.


At the gong she was off her pedestal, breaking into a sprint. Of course, Kitinger wasn't the fastest tribute in the Game. She professed in other skills. So when figure appeared in her peripheral vision, coming up on her fast, she improvised the way she planned. She lunged, launching herself from behind. Her fingers curled around the boy's head, he started to fall under her unexpected weight. Kitinger got her grip and twisted violently to one side. She leapt away, the body falling limp to the ground. A tribute then used the distraction to get the advantage on her. They had picked up a dagger. Kitinger had just noticed the blade in their hand in time to use evasive manuvers. The girl jabbed again, Kitinger was ready. She grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her body towards her and dislocating her shoulder. The District Two girl then took the knife from the girl's limp hand. With a quick jab of her pommel, she knocked the girl away. Kitinger couldn't waste her time, she needed to secure a sword before her enemies did. By this time Kitinger didn't see faces, she was tracking movement in her peripherals.


She had yet to spill blood herself, but around her, the Cornucopia was being pillaged by the brave or the desperate. Kitinger grasped her hand around the hilt of the hidden sword. In one fluid motion she slid it out from from under a sack of heavy supplies and twisted as she brought it up, the blade whistled as it passed through the air and ended with a wet sound as it met flesh. Fresh blood sprayed her face and the front of her uniform as it squirted from the wound. Without missing a beat, Kitinger brought up her boot and shoved the boy off her blade. The blade had connected with the crook of the neck and shoulder, cutting deep enough to sever the important vein their, death was not instantaneously, but it would follow soon after.

Hale Pax




​

The gong sounded. Hale's eyes widened, time seemed to slow down as adrenaline dripped into his bloodstream. The Tributes around him started to move. He followed, leaping off of his pedestal and sprinting for the sword, arms pumping at his sides. He had never run in shoes like this, if he ever wore shoes at all, they were very expensive and he already had problems keeping food in his mouth. His foot caught on the stone ground and he nearly tumbled, but he never dropped his pace. The other Tributes were surging forward around him. Twenty feet. Ten. Five. His hand was outreached, the world seemed to focus on only that weapon, that sword, he had to get to it. He heard a clash somewhere around him and his face was sprayed with blood. From a nearby battle.


A hand shot out and grabbed the handle; however, that hand didn't belong to Hale. There was a flash of light as the sleek bright silver thing sliced through the air. Warmth enveloped his neck and shoulder, this was quickly followed by a searing pain. Hale was shoved back, he collapsed to the ground, his vision grew blurry but this was less significant as he was gasping for air, the pain overwhelming. Darkness seemed to be closing in around what left he had of his vision, he could do nothing but lay there. The pain seemed to lessen slightly, he starred up at the sky as the baby blue turned darker. Hadn't this been what he'd been waiting for? He never wanted to play in the Hunger Games. There wasn't anyone missing him in his home district, and he wouldn't be missed after. Hale was just glad for the release. He felt tired now. Hale closed his eyes, now he could just let go.


And his world faded to black.

​

Jett Sixto

​

While all the stupid people ran at the Cornucopia, Jett was taking off in the other direction at top speed. His long legs reaching and pulling the earth behind him as he ran across the nearest stone bridge, river water thrashing violently against the rocks far below him. He swallowed the bile that was rising in the form of a lump in his throat and ignored his over-active imagination that was imagining his body loosing its balance while he ran and smashing against the rocks. He forged ahead.


The rocky path was narrow, and much to Jett's displeasure he had to slow down several times to twist sideways and squeeze by. It was darker here, the crevice in the rock winded up, the sunlight that reached him dim. He had to slow down further, but luckily he didn't hear anyone following, and he couldn't hear any sounds of battle, but that didn't mean he was safe yet. He was still way to close for comfort. Once the Bloodbath was over, the Careers would track ever last Tribute down. And while he pretty much threw the preliminary Training and Exam in the most delicate way possible, and would like to think that he didn't exactly leave a lasting impression one way or the other, they would be after him soon enough. He needed to become an Enigma. But he couldn't do that if he couldn't sufficiently put space between himself and the other Tributes, the crevice taking him out of the rocky range suddenly ended.


Jett backtracked a bit to a suitable formation. He glanced up, surveying the stone and once determining its potential as an escape route, He pressed his back into the wall. As quickly and carefully as he could he climbed the rock about thirty feet up he turned himself around and free climbed out. At the top he had to pause as a blast of hot wind hit his face. Desert? For miles there was sand with just a ring of green on the far side. Seriously? He had to keep moving though. He scaled back down the rock, thinking about how the Capital had dressed them. The tighter shorts and shirt, black accented with stripes of white. The jacket was thin but insulated and water proof. Boots to keep out water, and also sand?


He jumped off the rock the last three feet into tall grass and took off in a run again. He wondered about snakes and things in this grass, or biting insects. Always suspect the environment. Jett ran in a zigzag so it would be difficult to follow. He ran in a bit of a crouch so to hide his from from a distance. Jett especially didn't want anyone following him. The soil changed under his feet to gritty as he entered the desert. He sheilded his eyes from the sun reflecting off the white landscape. Then it dawned on him. He unzipped his jacket, after all that running he wanted to keep it off but instead he flipped it inside-out. He put it back on again, white from the inside now showing and the black of the jacked facing the inside. It would keep him relatively camouflaged. He then began his trek across the desert.

 

[Lutalica]

Corasell Savvron

​

When the gong finally sounded Corasell gave a deep and manipulative grin. Her white hair was rushing around her while she ran towards the celestial Cornucopia. She watched as the Blood Bath already started, but it seemed that there was no escape from it anyway. Corasell jumped over a tripped tribute and ran to the back of the Cornucopia while everyone seemed to be scattered in the front. Her breath was heavy and she watched as people ran for the mountain passes. It was a situation of life and death, but Corasell had other plans. She shifted towards the back opening of the Cornucopia and entered in thoroughly. She made sure she wasn't watched nor attacked until some other tribute clenched the back of her neck. Her eyes narrowed and she shifted a bit until she jabbed him in the stomach. Quickly, she turned and kicked him aside to where he wasn't going to be a bother anymore. She straightened her jacket a little and saw her goal, the trident. It was still sitting there where she planned it to be. Relieved, Corasell ran towards it and clenched the staff of it and almost wanted to jump for joy. But it wasn't that sort of moment. Corasell grabbed a couple more thins like supplies and placed them in a near by sack. Finally, she ran for her life. Other tributes were catching up to her and it seemed like only a matter of time until she either tripped or found herself falling off the pass. It would have been better if she had looked for her allies, but at the moment she wanted to be safe, not dead. Corasell raced towards a pass in which few tributes were making their way through and she maneuvered her way through. It was her first trace of blood when she realized she scraped her arm on a rock, but it was better than getting sliced in the neck. She looked behind her only to see a tribute struggling to get by. The Hunger Games was easily described as 'every man for themselves' and it was obvious. Corasell turned to face the light ahead of her.


Happily, Corasell reached some hills, no, sand dunes. Obviously the new arena was based on a beach of some kind, and it seemed perfect for Corasell. She walked a little further out to see the miles length of sand. It looked as if it would go on forever, but there was something to the southeast. Corasell raised her hand to have some sort of makeshift visor to try to make out what was in the distance. She could make out at least some form of a tree. Yes, it was a forest. It seemed like a great place to start the night, and not somewhere in the open like sand dunes. Corasell jammed her trident into the sand and unzipped her jacket. "I'm going to make it." she said to herself trying to show some sort of confidence. She wrapped the coat around her waist and tied it so it was easy to get to without being in the way. Corasell took a deep breath and grabbed the weapon out of the sand as she started to make her way to her destination.

Baylix Queue

​

When Baylix heard the gong he gave a bright grin. It was his time to show his strength, but what he thought was strength was really his vulnerability. Baylix ran towards the Cornucopia and thrust his fist at a tribute who stood in his path. He jumped up onto some supply crates to reach the whip and then ran. Baylix didn't care for supplies, he would try to get them later, he just wanted to get what he wanted and be done with it. Baylix tripped a little ways from the metal contraption, but he still didn't fall. Falling was a sign of weakness, and Baylix believed that he was strong enough to overcome that. As he ran towards a mountain pass he watched the District 2 girl take down other tributes, even without bloodshed. It was unbelievable, but Baylix thought he could do the bloodshed was necessary. His thoughts seemed to side track him from his goal and he almost fell into the waters below. Stepping away he side stepped and ran through the mountain pass. Baylix could hear other tributes following him and he had no desire to wait. Running faster, at the best speed he could reach, Baylix reached sand. His eyes widened, he hated soft ground. He tried to turn back but by then tributes were already coming through. Baylix shook his head and ran west.


After running at a risky speed, Baylix fell to the sand. His heart was racing and his breath was heavy. The sun glared at his motionless and aching body. He risked himself by just laying down, and it was a risk that he probably shouldn't have made. He closed his eyes for a while longer until his strength slowly came back to him. Weak, he walked towards a trench of grass peaking from the sand and he fell to his knees. The trench would be his hide out for the rest of his time, but it wouldn't be his last, it couldn't, he barely scratched the surface of the game and he didn't feel like dying was on his to-do list already. He fixed himself into a semi-comfortable position and clenched his hand upon the hilt of the whip as his eyes closed to regain energy.

 

[Aura]

His body felt electrically charged as he waited for the countdown. Every muscle was so tense in those long seconds that it almost felt like a relief when he finally leaped forward off of the platform. He watched as a few quicker individuals raced past him but instead of feeling despair he felt anticipation. Let them get to the Cornucopia. He would be arriving within seconds of them. His opponents needed a fighting chance as fighting was his best chance.


Luka grabbed hold of the gleaming blade he had been watching since on the platform and his fingers managed to curl upon it as he heard the swish of air behind him through the mad din of fighting surrounding him. He growled and whirled back countering the tribute's blow and knocking him to the ground. With a savage growling noise he thrust the blade into the tribute's neck before lunging forward towards another one catching him in his lower back. The tribute screamed in agony and fell off of the blade in a spray of blood and sand.


He ignored the fallen tribute beside him as he set his eyes upon another one. The wound on the tribute's back was shallow despite how profusely Wendel June was bleeding. It was maybe even a wound that the girl might have survived had she not been in the Hunger Games. But Luka didn't care. He would be wasting time if he cared about finishing them off because this was the time where they were all here. Let one of his allies finish off the girl from eight. He was more concerned with wounding than killing... because wounds had just as much potential to kill.


His eyes settled on another tribute already in flight and he hurried after the tribute chasing him across the sands for just one moment before he realized that the tribute was faster. Instead he raised his blade and flung it through the air. It whistled noisily but missed its target and sunk into the sands. Luka made note of what the tribute looked like and vowed to himself that he would find that tribute and finish what he started.


He came back to the Cornucopia with the brunt of the battling done and his nerves still on fire from the rush of adrenaline. Someone had finished off Wendel since he had left and the male tribute from eleven that he had killed remained face-down on the ground where he had left him.


--


The contestants exploded into a flurry of movement as Brie remained where she stood for one disorientating moment. She watched with awe and horror as all of the other tributes sprinted off in many directions except for her. All she seemed capable of doing was drawing a painful breath and throwing up in the area beside her tribute plate. She didn't know how she was going to do this... how soon would she be dead?


An arrow whistled by her and if she had anything left in her stomach she might have thrown up again. Instead the arrow managed to spook her into action. She was surely going to die, but she was going to die that much sooner if she remained. Brie spared a quick glance at the cornucopia only to see one of the careers... the district 2 guy... stabbing a tribute in the back. Blood poured out profusely and the tribute dropped to the ground but the look on the career's face horrified her more than anything else. It almost looked as if he was proud of what he had just done.


Brie scrambled to her feet and began racing off blindly. She had speed and it showed as she bolted off unknowingly towards the desert. She needed to find trees... they were familiar. She could survive if she found trees. Trees provided safety and shelter... but they also needed water to survive. She could run for about an hour and a half through this blistering heat so hopefully she would find trees and water by then... at the very least she could put a lot of distance between herself and her potential murderers.

 

[explosiveKitten]

Cross

​

Cross dashed off the plate the second the gong sounded. Her mind was racing, her heart pounding. I have to get that sword, I have to get it. A Career had their eyes on it. Kitinger Renfroux, Caesar Flickerman's voice echoed in her head. She heard his voice a lot, it was weird. She quickly dashed ahead of Kitinger, but by the time she got to the Cornucopia, she couldn't remember where the sword had been. "AH! YOU DISTRACTED ME!" She shouted, frustrated at Brain Caesar, and started rooting through the piles.


She found the hilt of a blade, and smiled as she pulled it out, but it was a machete. "Why would we need a machete?! We're in a desert!" She threw it down, and kept digging. Eventually she found it, and reached to grab it, but Kitinger beat her to it, and quickly stabbed somebody else. "Holy crap! A bit bloodthirsty are ya?" She squeaked, picked up the machete then after a moment of strategic thinking, she swung at the sword arm, hoping that it would dig in and make Kitinger drop the sword.

Gratiott

​

Gratiott was out of there. Bye-bye, see ya suckers! He grabbed a backpack and an ax from the Cornucopia while everyone was distracted and ran off over mountains of sand. He could go to the water, but he wasn't the best swimmer. He was a pretty fast runner, though. He stuck the ax handle first into the backpack and ran for some trees he could see on the horizon. His heart was pounding like the drummers from the tribute parade.


Ugh, he had no fun with that. A bunch of people, celebrating his inevitable death. All smiles, waving. Nobody seemed sad. Nobody wanted to stop it. In fact, the sea of ridiculous rainbow colors seemed to move as one as he had watched, some of them even did something he'd heard his mother call, "The Wave". Whatever that was. Some threw their hands in the air and the rest just... followed. Like the sheep he'd see in the streets at home. Stupid, fluffy and simply following the leader.

 

[MagicPocket]

Kitinger was aware of the tribute's position even before the girl screamed most untelligently. Her brow tightened, what a sloppy attack. It was obvious that the user was unpracticed. She ducked backwards to avoid the swipe with the large blade. In the process her footing caught on the uneven slate of rock and she lost her balance, falling backwards. Despite the bad position she was in, Kitinger stayed cool, this was what made her a better fighter than her sister, or this opponent for that matter. Emotions and frustration had no place in combat. Without hesitation, she rolled over her head and popped out of a crouch as the blade came down right where her head just been a half a second ago. She dove into a roll to the side, narrowly avoiding the slash of the powerful blade, though the wielder was inexperienced, it was still a deadly weapon to be considered with caution. She rightened and twisted, but instead of carrying through with the motion and striking at the back of his knees, severing the tendons there as she intended--Kitinger improvised. She would give the audience a good show, that's what they wanted from here. Too much blood and gore and she would lose sympathy and popularity. The girl from District Two grabbed a length of rope that was holding a pile of supplies together. She leapt away, yanking the rope with her. The whole stack fell down trapping her foolish opponent. She wouldn't be getting up anytime soon, so she left her for another Tribute to slay.


Kitinger turned to engage the next unlucky victim, one was running away, the coward, but had too much of a head start for her to bother running after. She whipped around looking for the other boy she'd seen swiping a backpack. She spotted the motion first, followed by the clang of the weighted balls hitting the hard rock ground. A net made of tough metal fibers flew through the air, the weights spreading the net wide in the air before ensnaring the group of three standing around the Cornucopia, the group included the two remaining Careers.


From the top of the Cornucopia the Tribute slid down the opposite side. Quick on her feet she ran after him, drawing back her sword in anticipation to attack when he suddenly stopped at the rock's edge and spun holding up a trident poised to throw it in an instance. She skid to a stop, jumping back to avoid the weapon's barbs and keep out of reach. Kitinger held out her sword protectively. The male had two others bound to his backpack with a multitude of knots to keep it secured. But it didn't matter how many of the things he had, she had him cornered.


They stood there for a moment, frozen in a stalemate, waiting for the other to make an attack. Kitinger quickly assessed him; he certainly had a presence, several inches taller than herself, well worked from the muscles throughout his body. Though size never stopped her from taking down anyone. He was experienced, from the way he held his trident it was obvious he was familiar with the weapon and knew his way around it. He had gall, she must admit, netting the other Careers while he made an escape, it showed some potential for intelligence; that particular act also took a lot of courage, committing something like that trick against the Careers and he would be sure to be on their hit list until the very end.


The words formed slowly and cautiously as she said, "You should join us." District 4 had a history of Career alliances, afterall.


Another moment of silence, frozen. The sound of the Career fighting to get free from the entangling fibers and the river as it crashed against the rocks meeting with the sea, was the only sound that filled the air between them.


Finally he replied, "I'd rather eat a jellyfish alive." With that he threw his trident. Kitinger did a combination of sidestep and knocking away the barbed lance with her sword. But it was enough of a distraction, he was gone. Kitinger rushed to the edge, she witnessed a splash among the turbulent waves. There was no way he could have survived the rocks dotting the dark waters at the bottom of the cliff, if not that then the current. Despite all of this she waited for a total of five minutes. She saw nothing. Kitinger assumed he was dead, but without a body, such a notion would be foolish.


The girl from District 2 hustled back towards the Cornucopia, wondering what a jellyfish was, imagining that it was probably something unpleasant. She noticed the brat from District Twelve, the one she had knocked unconscious after dislocating her shoulder. The girl was hiding in the shadows of a few crates. Kitinger made no expression, simply approached the girl. The female from the coal district shot to her feet, cowering in the corner, holding a new weapon. The girl was about fifteen or sixteen with short dark hair. She was whimpering, holding out the blade as if it would miraculously save her from the blood-thirsty Career Tribute.


Kitinger sneered, knocking the blade out of her girl's hand with a simple swipe of her sword. The girl yelped, rubbing her now throbbing hand. Kitinger approached, the tip of her sword pressing against the girl's neck. Kitinger was not in a very good mood, her enemy having so cleverly evaded her. The girl's eyes were squeezed shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I want you to know..." Kitinger hissed, her voice low, inches from the girl's ear. "That I will find you tonight..." Kitinger inhaled deeply. "Don't think you can hide...because I have your scent..."


"I will find you," she dropped into a whisper, "And I will kill you."


Kitinger grabbed the girl's shoulder harshly and pushed her away from her. The girl stumbled and fell. "GO!" Kitinger yelled. The District 12 girl scrambled to her feet and ran, clutching her still-dislocated shoulder.


She returned to her group where the fighting had finished. The rest of the tributes lay dead, run off, or surrendered. She returned to the girl who had attempted to attack her, though foolish as it was, it was somewhat courageous attacking a Career like that. Kitinger took a deep breath, what's your story, huh?" She lifted her hands up and wiggled her fingers, "Give me a reason why I shouldn't wrap these fingers around your neck and clenth the life out of your body. " She looked at the remaining tribute from district seven. "What about you?" The girl reeked of sick. "Were you the screaming brat? Tell me why District Two shouldn't cut you until you exsanguinate yourself?" She grabbed a scabbard that was probably once hidden inside the pile, but was now laying on her ground. She attached it to her waist and sheathed her sword.

 

[explosiveKitten]

Cross

​

She felt a crushing weight pin her down. That Career toppled supplies on her! How- She tried to get up, but the supplies we're pinning her down. "Well. This is a sticky situation." She tried to pull herself from under, but a jab in her back told her a sharp knife was pressed against her flesh.; It would cut her to pieces if she tried to get out that way. She knew she couldn't stay here long- Who knows who could pick her off now while she's pinned. She tried to shift some more, but the knife dug in deeper. If I keep at this, I'll be dead before anyone can kill me! But... Maybe it would be better off to be dead. If I lived, and I had to deal with what Marshall deals with, I don't think I could take it, I see enough dead people.


She moaned in frustration and suddenly, the thought of dying hit her. Oh no, Marshall could be watching her struggle right now. He's probably just sitting the Television room, staring. He could be crying, or screaming advice to her that she can't hear! He could just watch his sister die, in front of him, without anything he can do... He'll blame himself for it... With another squeak she started dragging herself out of the pile, she could feel the knife cutting into her flesh, but wouldn't stop. "I have to get out..." She muttered and pulled herself out. Standing slowly, she could feel blood gushing from the slit that was no doubt on her back. She picked up the machete and ran for the hills, grabbing onto a backpack, a small one, but a backpack none the less. She didn't look back.

Gratiott




​

He kept his eyes on the trees. Once he got there... Oh who knows whats in there? There could be meat eating squirrels for all he knew. The Gamemakers know. He thought, his eyes narrowing in anger. They were doing this. They were the psychos behind thousands of innocent deaths. No... Not the Gamemakers. The President. He's the nutjob. Gratiott started climbing up a pile of sand- It's harder than it looks- and tumbled down the other side, getting sand all over him. For a second he just lay there, sand in his hair, sand getting in his wounds, but he didn't care.


He thought of one thing; The screen he had in his bedroom back in the Capitol suite. He had watched the Capitol citizens wander their pristine, clean streets for hours. Wondering what it was like to live there on a daily basis. Enough food, plenty of water. More than enough water! They had so much water, they used it for decorations! Dyed it like their hair and threw it in the air as fountains! While people back in his district were dying of dehydration! This made him angry. He heard someone coming over the hill, so he got up and ran again. The second he reached the trees, he pulled out his ax and used it to help haul himself up the nearest tree.

 

[Toxic Infinity]

Bihlar Cryst


Bihlar was still sitting on the platform when the gong went off. She understood that it was a risky situation and sitting around wouldn't help, but then again she wasn't the average person. Bihlar watched as the first tributes fell to their knees and their blood splash against the metal of the Cornucopia, but Bihlar wasn't afraid. If anything Bihlar was waiting for the right moment to leave the platform and take the bow. Everyone seemed to pass her like she was a ghost, which is exactly her reason for sitting still, and continued to rebel against others. Bihlar was small enough to stay out of sight for a while, but only for a moment. Sooner or later someone smart enough would notice her, but she wasn't such an easy target. As she waited for her chance, she watched tributes scream in panic and run away from their battle. It was all pitiful to her. She believed once you start a fight you should end it, not run from it. If Bihlar was anything, she wasn't cowardly, and she understood the objective of the games. She finally found her moment and she jumped off her platform running towards the bow. Plenty of other tributes started fighting around her and all she did was smile. Blood was being splattered against the rocks and metal of the Cornucopia, it all seemed so delightful. Bihlar jumped over a fallen tribute and ran towards the silver bow. Though a male tribute grabbed it and aimed it straight at her head. "Boo.." she said with a smile and kicked him in the stomach. The girl might be only fourteen, but she could kick at least over her head. She blew a kiss at the tribute in pain and grabbed the bow.


After that, Bihlar started for a mountain pass. Luckily, Bihlar encountered a female tribute from District 5. The girl smiled and threw a spear straight for her. Bihlar had barely a second to think and jumped towards the side hitting her head against a rock. "Ugh," she said as she felt her head, "your going to pay for that." she replied and grabbed an arrow, aiming it for the girl's chest. Bihlar was about to shoot until the dreadful tribute's ally kicked her in the ribs, spinning her off towards the platform for District 12. "I heard you were mentally ill. Let's hope its true." the male said and pinned his foot against Bihlar, pressing her down against the rocks. She winced and stared at the sky. If she had to die she wanted to show the world she smiled while leaving the dreadful arena. With a smile, Bihlar looked up at the sky and awaited her death. The joy of feeling her blood unleash onto the rocks pleased her, after all, she was a bit crazy. Though for a moment she didn't feel anything, maybe when you die you don't feel it. Bihlar opened her eyes only to see blood dripping from the tribute that originally had his foot upon her chest. Bihlar's eyes widened and she stared at the dying tribute as he fell to the ground. The guy was being over dramatic actually, he was only shot in the arm. If it wasn't treated, he should have something to worry about, but he could still live. Bihlar didn't take a chance and tried to get her footing. She couldn't see who saved her life, but then again she would have taken their's anyway.


After her little incident, Bihlar limped towards the mountain pass to a desert. It looked terrible, but she had to find a place to hide. Looking around, she felt the blood drip from her mouth. It obviously came from the blow to her ribs, so most likely one of them was broken. Though, after all she just went through, it didn't give her much shock. Sooner or later she might realize the pain, but right now it felt quite pleasing. She limped over a sand dune and tumbled down. After hitting the grainy bottom, Bihlar touched her ribs and whimpered like a dog. She finally felt the pain, and it hurt more than she expected. If she was sane she would have searched for the tribute that saved her, but she didn't have time. Turning slowly, she rolled over and dragged herself towards a little trench beneath the sand. It acted like a little cave for the girl to sleep in for the night since it was obvious she wasn't going to go anywhere.


Zelix Kurig





When he heard the gong he climbed off the platform instead of being so impatient like the rest of the tributes. He would have calmly walked to the Cornucopia, but he didn't have a choice, it was either run or die. He started to sprint towards the Cornucopia and halted at the side of the metal contraption. Looking up he saw it didn't raise very high, so there was no chance of hiding up there until things cleared up. He heard what sounded like a whistling sound behind him and couldn't seem to have moved quick enough. He felt the scrape of a blade, but it wasn't enough to puncture theough his jacket, obviously the weilder was not experienced, at all. He turned and shook his head. "You know, you could have killed me." he said in somewhat of a sarcastic voice. He wanted to entertain the watchers, and making jokes could lighten up the moment a bit. The small boy gulped and ran off into the mountain passes, obviously scared to death. Zelix turned back around only to feel a inpact of a fist to his cheek. Falling to the ground Zelix looked up to see a muscular girl from District 5, Nova Nash. Zelix's eyes widened and stared at her for a while until he realized a plan. Quickly, he clipped the back of her ankles by hitting them with his shins and knocked her down. Getting up as fast as he could, Zelix picked up the girl by her jacket and looked right into her eyes, "I want only peace, and I don't hit girls. But you, you give me no choice." he said with a tone of frustration. He pinned her against the Cornucopia and looked at her once more. "I'm sorry." he said and threw her only a few feet away, but it was w she slid against some jagged rocks. Wiping his hands together as if they were dirty, Zelix grabbed a belt of throwing knives and a bow.





He was running back towards his platform when he watched a young girl get pinned down by some jerk. Grabbing for his bow, he shot an arrow at the arm of the male tribute and watched him fall, but he clearly was over reacting as if he was going to die right then and there. Zelix rolled his eyes and ran off before the girl could see him. He knew who he was, she was from District 1. Apparently she went insane, but Zelix would never judge. After running through a mountain pass he reached the Blazing Desert. Plenty of tributes were already there, one of them even tried to throw a spear at him, but he took it as a simple warning and ran towards a trench. Reaching over the little hill he slid down only to see what looked like a dying body. Zelix's eyes widened and looked at the poor chap. He looked like he was in a lot of stress, even fatigue, but that didn't mean he could be trusted. Zelix cocked his head to the side as he watched the guy close his eyes. If Zelix was like any other tribute, he would have killed the guy, but he seemed in pain, and Zelix hated the feeling of killing someone that might already die in the first place.

 

[Lutalica]

Corasell Savvron





Corasell was walking towards the wooded area until she watched at least seven other tributes race there. She rolled her eyes and stopped in her tracks. Stabbing the trident into the sand, she quickly looked for another way to go. She wasn't quite able to see much of anything, but the forest had a passing which looked like it went up a ledge like surface. She smiled and grabbed her weapon as she started to head towards her new destination. She felt the heat against her skin and it was like an oven. She could resist it for a while longer, but she would have to find something to quench the heat.


Walking farther, she slowly reached the gap between the forest and the ledge of sand that led off into the water. She started to think a moment and then realized, water. Her survival skills kicked in and she held onto her backpack as she ran towards the shore. She practically dove right in and felt at home. Her white hair blended in with the icy blue and she felt welcomed, but she couldn't keep those emotions. It wasn't going to be an expectation, and if she eve, for a second, thought it would last, she was wrong. She heard the splash of some sort of object go into the water only to find that it was a net with weighted balls at the end. She began to sink and panicking wasn't the best idea. She tried to reach for her trident, but it was outside the net. In a struggle, Corasell tried to reach for her weapon that was just in her grasp until the tribute that cast the net upon her took it out of the water. She could hear him from above, "Here fishy fishy." But Corasell wasn't amused. Luckily, she was able to hold her breath long enough, and she watched as the sand gave way under the weights and she sank even farther. It was only four feet below the surface, and if she was able to improvise, she could get out of the situation.


The only plan she could think of was if she acted like she was dead, hopefully the tribute could be stupid enough to at least make sure. But it wan't the way she planned. The tribute was using the trident to investigate what looked like a dead District 4 girl, but the situation escalated when Corasell risked her hand and grabbed the bladed trident to get herself out. She felt the sting of her own weapon cutting into her hands, but hopefully once she got out of the situation she could find something in her bag. Pulling and shoving, Corasell finally took hold of her weapon and quickly started to cut the fibers. It was only a few minutes later until she was almost done and could feel the loss of her breath within her. Once she broke loose, she swam to the surface inhaling all the air she could.


After arriving on the surface, Corasell dragged herself towards the sand and laid on her back staring at the sky. She inhaled some water and soon realized it when she coughed it out. Her lungs were killing her and it felt like she would die right then and there. But she was strong willed, and she couldn't just die already.





Baylix Queue





Baylix felt like the world was caving in. He had a mass amount of splinters in his hands that were most likely starting to bleed and he felt that the lack of water was getting to him. He pushed it way too far, and he hadn't even scratched the surface of the games yet. Opening his eyed he realized another tribute. "Who are you?!" he exclaimed trying to stand. He was pretty weak, and if he was still alive even with a tribute standing there armed, then obviously the fool didn't want to kill him. "Suit yourself." He said trying to pull out his whip. His hands were bleeding, he was right, and he trembled at the side of it and fell back down to the sand. "Get it over with!!" he yelled with the last of his strength. "DO IT!" he yelled once more. He wanted to show the games that he wasn't afraid to die, and even when he did, he hoped there would be riches where ever he may go. His stubborn thoughts were still inside his head and all he thought was water and bandages.

 

[MagicPocket]

MagicPocket updated The 98th Annual Hunger Games: Semi-Lit with a new update entry:


THIS IS -KINDA- SPARTA

I don't want to be all Hitler on you guys so if you have any concerns, go ahead and let me know, I guys are awesome and I want your feedback!
Also if I leave a OOC thing on your post, I'm not "correcting" you per say. This is a Game, I want to make things more interactive for you guys! Spice it up!


Straight talk. Beggars can't be choosers. I'm trying very hard to make this a fair as possible so that we can all have a happy successful rp of sunshine and rainbows!


That being said, I have...

Read the rest of this update entry... 
Baron Leer
​

The District 4 male crawled onto the beach, his chest heaving, hair dripping water down his face and hands as he pulled himself out of the water. He wanted to collapse right there on his back and take a breather, but he was in too much of a vulnerable position there along, he had to get into some cover. Baron dragged himself over to a low shrub and toppled over in its shade.


The image of the girl from District two kept flashing in his mind, the anger and confusion in her expression as he jumped off that cliff. It was a miracle he didn't kill himself. The thought of suicide had definitely crossed his mind as he plummeted the four stories distance into what should have been his death. Suicide had definitely crossed his mind. But so had the image of his family, brothers and sisters who were desperate for money and food, who all had their names placed so many times. That was why he was here, for them.


After the jump, he dove into the water. He had dislocated his shoulder in the process, he should have broken more with all those rocks. It was almost pitch black down there, he could barely make out the bubbles from his mouth. If it weren't for the current pulling him along and out of that river, he might have been hit with a spear, or hell, a sword if he came out at the wrong time. Baron then worked with the current and pulled himself up to the surface of the water about a quarter of a mile out into the ocean, being dragged away in a riptide. He swam to the side and about a mile up the coast until he couldn't go any farther, and here he was.


He now pulled off his jacket, shaking the water droplets off of it and stuffing it into his pack. The skin-tight part of his uniform didn't seem to be too wet either, but he'd need to let his boots dry. Unfortunately he didn't have the time to sit out in the sun, and if he continued to wear them on his feet he'd get terrible blisters and the material would either mold or rot. So he took them off along with his sock, and tied his boots to his pack. "Enough resting. Everyone's got to be in the deserts now," he mumbled to himself. He didn't want to risk being caught, he didn't want to make that decision, sparing or taking their life. Both were equally just as bad.


He kept walking, even if he didn't find someplace to take shelter he'd at least get an idea of the land. His mind was lost in how the best way would be to cross the stream he'd just come across emptying into the sea when he heard distant sound of a splash. Baron lowered himself down and began to run in a smooth crouch towards the noise. If it was an animal...he had dinner. If it was a Tribute...he could also have dinner but that is cannibalism and he would wait until his belly was empty for a couple of weeks before he would consider stooping to that level. But if it was a Tribute, he would covertly discover their intentions, and deal with them as such.


He ducked behind a shrub and watched, seeing a tribute who had obviously just trekked through the dunes, taking a refreshing swim. His hands moved before he thought. And before Baron knew it, his pack was on the ground and his weighted net was in his hands. Just like at the Cornucopia, he didn't plan anything to happen really. Everything went so fast, his instincts took over. Such an opportunity. "Just an overlarge fish," he told himself. He threw the net into the pool, the weights quickly capturing the "overlarge fish". He held the line in his hands and waited. It stopped moving. Baron grabbed a trident from his pack and took a closer look. His stomach dropped as he looked at the head of white hair. "Corasell!" The head of hair that suddenly moved! A hand shot out and grabbed his trident, in the loose sand he lost his balance and fell in after her. Baron quickly stood and grabbed at the net pulling it back to free his fellow district partner.


Shit, he would never hear the end of this one. His first almost-kill was an ally. Making his district proud. Corasell crawled up onto the beach. "Shit, Cora! Are you okay?"

 

[Lutalica]

Corasell Savvron





Corasell turned over on her side with her hands against the sand when she realized who attacked her. "Do I look okay?!" she said sitting up. "My own ally tried to kill me." her eyes narrowed as she looked at Baron who was worried. Corasell looked up at him and gave a grimace. She was just trying to get out of the heat, not get hit by a net. "Let's just get out of here before all the other tributes think we're weak." she said as she tried to stand. Her lungs hurt from the water, but hopefully it wouldn't last long. That was honestly the first time she ever had a problem with water, and she didn't like the outcome. After finally getting on her feet she walked to her trident that was under the watery sand and wiped it down a bit. "I swear, if you do that again, you're going to regret it." she said as she looked towards Baron. He might have been from her District, but he seriously went from her good side to halfway between. She tightened her backpack on a bit and squeezed the excess water out of her hair. "I saw a ledge a little ways that direction," she said pointing northwest. "it looks like a better vantage point. All the other tributes are focusing on the woods. I suggest we get there and wait the night." she said trying to make out what exactly she was talking about. It looked like a meadow. If she was right, it would be a great destination, but if she was wrong, they would have to camp out there until they figure put something else. After thinking a while she thought of her sack. She wuickly took it off her shoulders and opened it up to make sure nothing was missing. "Well, we have food for the rest of the day, radiation tablets, coffee beans and a bed roll. So, I guess all we need is some pasteurized water and we will be set for at least a day. Maybe more if we keep track of how much we intake. Although, I could always try to find something at the new location." she said. Corasell tried to keep on the bright side, even if she was in a bad mood. She tried to ignore the thought of getting too angry, because it never works out, and keep in mind that emotions were something to ignore in the games. She looked back up at Baron and waited for his thoughts on the whole situation. By the time they get everything situated, they should most likely already have their other allies with them. The more the merrier, but also the slower.

 

[Nijoloblob]

Pias tipped his head back as the foul-tasting liquid sizzled down his throat, but it was a ritual he had performed thousands of times before. He gulped the concoction down, and handed the empty canteen back to his one and only true friend, a dark-skinned male from District 7. There was a pause of silence, each searching for suitable words to say but time passed and Pias stepped into the glass tube. He stared at his feet, avoiding eye contact with his friend as the tube rose higher and higher until finally the light suddenly burst onto Pias's eyes, causing him to squint as the sun's glare faded.


Around him the other tributes readied themselves as they waited for the countdown to finish. A loud CRACK-BOOM split the air as a double explosion rocked Pias's platform as Bray was instantly vaporised in a gout of firepower, the resulting shockwave threatening to push Pias over the edge towards a similar death. He crouched and regained his balance just as the gong sounded, and bodies fled in different directions with the majority heading for the slaughterfest that would soon be occuring at the Cornucopia. Pias paused in his half-crouch, watching to see who went where and what opportunities might arise. To his surprise, he wasn't the only one waiting for an opportunity to strike. The District 1 girl was there, biding her time as well as the girl from seven, although the streaks of wetness down her cheeks suggested she was more likely frozen there from shock.


Pias turned back to Bihlar just in time to see her leave her platform, and Pias followed closely behind her mirroring her every dodge and change in direction. Through a mixture of copycating Bihlar's pattern and a goodly amount of luck, Pias reached the centre of the slaughterfest. A sickeningly warm flood of liquid spurted out from a tribute's neck, released by a youngish girl wielding a sword and as Pias covered his eyes and face, he lost track of Bihlar. His gut plummeted as he realised the trouble he had found himself in. He slipped behind a stack of crates, snatching what looked to be a dagger still in its black hardened plastic sheath as he left the vicious girl to turn her bloodlust on someone else. Pias popped his head up for a second, spying a small backpack half-filled with supplies. Heart pumping, he took a chance and snatched it as well as the hatchet next to it before the crates came tumbling down without warning and for no visible reason. Pias froze in place, recognising the fierce girl from only a short while before standing less then a metre away. But her attention was focussed elsewhere, somebody had become trapped under the crates. For the second time in less then a minute, Pias escaped while the girl's attention was focussed on somebody less lucky then himself.


Dodging from supply pile to supply pile, Pias filled the rest of his bag up to the brim as he moved southwards, finally breaking cover and heading out towards the desert. He slowed as he crossed the narrow rock bridge, checking the nicks and bruises he had gathered following Bihlar as well as a decent cut on his left forearm which was just now beginning to sting. Finally, he crossed the bridge and with one last glance back at the cornucopia and the people waiting there, he trotted out towards the desert keeping the water only a couple hundred metres away on his left side.

 

[MagicPocket]

Baron face was set in a grimace, he remained quiet while Corasell spoke. He didn't like what just happened anymore than she did, except for the fact that she had been the one who almost died, not him. So she had a reason to be upset.


He was wet and covered with sand again. Baron quickly shook the water out of his hair and attempted to brush the majority of the sand off.


Baron followed her finger to the place she described. He held a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the sun as he observed the place for himself. It was several miles away but they would make it by night fall no problem. He nodded." If the careers think the same thing they would focus themselves in the woods. I don't know about you but I won't be sleeping tonight.@


"I agree." He said finally. "It might also give us an idea of the terrain here."


Baron retrieved his backpack. "I have my trident and a spare," he rifled through the pack, "Canteen, flare, book of matches, looks like about ten of 'em, rope...What's this?" He took out the small metal bottle. He shook it, it was a liquid. Carefully he unscrewed the cap he peered in, he didn't see much but a musky scent wafted up to him. "What the hell is this?" Baron muttered. He handed the bottle to his ally, "What do you think, Cora?


While she investigated, he put everything away in his pack and pulled out his canteen which he filled at the creek, "Want a drink? We should probably purify it first." He looked at her expectantly, he was willing to share his supplies, but would she? Especially after what had just happened, he was really hoping they could make peace.

 

[Aura]

Pure panic. Brie wasn't even sure if she was breathing as the career turned on her. She had made a mistake and cut to close to the Cornucopia in her attempt to escape. She could practically feel the tenseness in the air and she felt her body sway... was she about to faint? She took in a ragged breath and she felt the words that were about to leave her mouth when the other career strode over. He cleared the distance between them in just a few short strides and she felt her panic rise as she hadn't expected the man who was quite muscular to move quite as swiftly as he did.


"Quit wasting time!" Luka snarled and his face contorted with something akin to either malice or anger. He seized her by the arm and Brie felt her body grow rigid... did she have any useful defense mechanisms aside from throwing up or freezing? He hadn't killed her yet and that was something that normally she would have celebrated if he hadn't been quite as strong as he was. Dragging her through the sands seemed to be no more difficult for him than if she had been a ragdoll.


"We have no use for them." he called out but not to her. He was talking to his ally, the intimidating career girl that had been the one to find her.


"No!" she shrieked and suddenly she seemed to gain control of her limbs. Brie began to thrash and flail wildly trying to use her fists to strike out at him. She managed to claw his right cheek though he didn't seem to care too much despite the slight flinch that she managed to register that flitted across his carefully composed face. She struggled in his hold for another moment before she managed to grab a fistful of his hair. His dark hair wound around her fingers and she yanked back on it pulling out a small clump of hair before she seemed to have exhausted his patience. Luka flung her to the ground and she felt her skull connect with the sand in a surprisingly painful way before he pressed his heel to her throat. She had done it... and the only mark that she had left on her would-be-killer was a small array of scratches across his face and a small trickle of blood that had followed the hair that she had pulled out... she couldn't even see a patch missing to indicate where the blood was coming from.


"Are you going to take your chances with me or off of the cliff?!" he bellowed and she felt her limbs grow heavy... she was freezing up again. She tried for about half a second to pry his foot from her neck before she realized that the only options she had available to her were certain death. She couldn't take her chances jumping off the cliff.... and into the water... and all he needed to do was press down with all of his weight to end her. It probably wouldn't be any worse for him than stepping on a berry.... berry...


"Please no! I can be useful! I'm useful!" she shrieked pathetically but Luka seemed to be waiting for her explanation, "I can help you survive! Please!" the look on his face didn't seem to indicate that he believed her and she felt the weight of his heel press down upon her throat constricting her breath slightly.


She struggled from the weight of his foot upon her neck to spit out her next words, "I know my berries. I'm district 7... trees! I have survival skills, please!"


"We're in the middle of a desert, little girl." he said to her a soft voice, almost crooning as if he found her endearing as he systematically began to choke her with the weight of his body, "I don't see many berries."


"That's why you need me! There are no deserts in seven but I know my plant-life. I know how to find water in a desert! You need me!"


"I don't know Kitinger..." he hesitated glancing back at her. It seemed as if they had secured the remainder of the cornucopia's spoils and that might be enough... but it depended on what the cornucopia had. Some years it didn't have much in terms of food... one year it didn't even have water! He didn't have the survival skills she boasted upon having and he wasn't sure if Kitinger did... Careers were notoriously weak in that aspect. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to use this tiny girl... at the very least it wouldn't be hard to dispose of her. Taking her down had been disgustingly easy. And even though Kitinger hadn't responded, he took his boot off of her throat. Asking her had really just been a formality anyways... he made his own decisions, let her deal with that if they were going to be allies.

 

[MagicPocket]

Kitinger paced around the Cornucopia. She was sure that this year would make for a very memorable Hunger Games. So much had occurred already. The Careers generally accounted for the first and second districts, sometimes the third and forth. The boy from the first district was dead literally before the Games even began. The girl from first district suffered illness and would not make for a stable alliance in Kitinger's opinion. She knew little of the tributes of third district besides that the girl had attacked her and run off; the boy was little better, young and ignorant, the Capitol would have his head, he would be a danger to keep around for those two reasons. District four; while the girl seemed reasonable and a valuable ally, the boy was too proud for his own good. The Career powers now consisted of herself and Luka, and while they were both formidable opponents, they were weak in number. And while there was also weakness in large numbers, they would have the odds in their favor if they had more momentum behind them.


She surveyed the contents of the Cornucopia. If they had a larger alliance she wouldn't feel so conflicted about leaving it open to pillage since she would leave a guard. Considering that most who chose to run away were unarmed or had little skill a single guard would be able to protect it well.


'I don't know Kitinger...' Her District Two partner said.


Kitinger turned, her left palm at ease on the pommel of her sword. She was listening silently to their exchange, she now took in the scene with her eyes.


"I trust your judgement, Luka." And she did, at this stage of the Games. Of course, at later stages of the Games she would have to constantly question his motives and intentions, most unfortunately. But while there were still tributes out there, they would be strong.

 

[Lutalica]

Corasell listened to his agreement. As long as they had an agreeable motive things should be ok. Though, this was the Hunger Games, so clearly it was impossible to understand if their motives could easily be pummeled by the Game Maker. Corasell shrugged at her thoughts and was thrown a bottle. "What the hell?" she said and opened it. "This looks like that garbage the Capitol drinks." she sniffed the bottle a bit, "Ugh," she shook her head in disgust, "this is definitely it." she replied and tossed it back to him. She listened to his investigation while he dug through his bag. Though Corasell jumped at the word water. She could easily purify it, since she did have survival skills. It was an easy fix, you just had to know what to do. "Let me purify it. Its easy. But do you trust me?" she asked with a smirk and her eyebrow raised. It seemed like he was a bit on edge as if he thought she would kill him. Well, sooner or later she might, or some other tribute got to him first. Either way, it was all in due time. Corasell stared at Baron for a while until she heard a whistle of a rock graze her ear. "Agh!" she yelled while reaching for her stinging ear. Corasell turned and saw someone with a little slingshot. "Aw," she said sarcastically, "cute." she replied with a scowl and grabbed her trident with a smirk on her mouth. She wanted a easy fight to start off with, and obviously this is the one. It looked like the Hov Sachevell from District 11. Corasell waved at the guy innocently and then started to dash for the kid. Honestly, in pure fear the kid ran, but it wasn't like he could hide anywhere in the dunes. Corasell grabbed his jacket collar and turned him around. "That was a nice little play there, kid." she said staring into his scared eyes. "But honestly, it wasn't enough to spare your life. I'm sorry." she said as she pushed him to the sands. He tried to drag himself away, and Corasell felt a bit wrong in killing him, but by the time she wanted to hold back she felt her body push the trident through his back. She turned her head. Corasell might have regretted her decisions, but it was a fight for survival, not a daycare.


While Corasell walked back to Baron she was cleaning the end of her trident. "Let's go." she said and heaved her backpack over her shoulder.


Corasell only shed one tear by the life she took back there. She kept most of her emotions inside, but this was different. The kid shouldn't have died, he should have lived his life in his District, not fight for his freedom out of the games. She shook her head and continued as her white hair covered her eyes. "Do you think our other allies have the same plan? To reach the meadow?" she asked curiously trying to distract herself as she walked through the sand dunes.

 

[Toxic Infinity]

Bihlar


Bihlar was fiddling with her hair as she lied down in the dip of the sand. She felt the sunlight beam down on her, but she didn't think much of it. Bihlar smiled and touched the back of her head. It wasn't bleeding much anymore, but she took a big enough pummel to the rocks that it bled to the point that she left a trail. She turned over and faintly saw tributes scattering across the sands to get to safety. What was the point? There wasn't any 'safety' in the games and the thought of it was foolish. "Foolish.." Bihlar said to herself with a giggle. She finally started to get up on her feet. Bihlar sheilded the light from the sun out of her eyes so she could see her surroundings. There wasn't much except water to the south and trees to the north. But there was too many tributes going for both. Bihlar stood aimlessly for a while until she flinched at the sting of a blade across her arm. It seemed as if every few seconds Bihlar was getting beat up by everyone else. Bihlar hit the sands and turned on her back to see a bloodthirsty tribute staring right into her eyes like a monster. "Tsk tsk tsk." she said with a giggle. It wasn't a funny situation, but in Bihlar's head she thought it was quite amusing. The tribute raised an eyebrow and looked at her funny. Did he not know she was crazy? She could have sworn it was pretty obvious. It had been news all around Panem that she was a total freak. She shook her head, "Nope, nope," she said, "not a freak." she replied as she thrust her knee into his stomach. The tribute was taken aback a but and fell on his back while dropping his sword. Bihlar jumped up and smiled. "Nope nope." she said again with a giggle. She looked at her arm. Luckily, in reality it was only a scrape, but in Bihlar's mind it was another sign she would be dead soon. Grabbing the tribute's fallen sword, Bihlar raised it up high and thrashed at the tribute multiple times. Bihlar was laughing while the blood splattered against her clothes, sand, and skin. By the time she felt she was finished, she was drenched in her victim's blood. Slowly, she walked aimlessly across the desert saying her victim's name, "Viand Tursula."


Zelix


Zelix stared at the wounded tribute from six as he yelled for him to take his life in cold blood. Zelix wanted peace, not war, but this guy seemed like dying was victory. "I'm not going to kill someone with a slight chance of actually winning." he said but the tribute seemed a bit on edge about it. He was being yelled at, louder and louder, when finally Zelix snapped and he grabbed his arrow and shot it at the District 6 male. He felt terrible, weak, and most definitely a monster. Why did this guy want to die? Didn't he have family? But these questions wouldn't be answered if Zelix was tormented into finishing the job.

 

[MagicPocket]

The sound of the Capitol anthem filled the air. Kitinger stood at the edge of the desert grasping the shaft of her spear, its deadly tip pointing towards the twilight sky. The first cannon rang across the arena, louder than Kitinger expected, grabbing the attention of each and every surviving tribute and directing it to the heavens where the faces of the fallen appeared.


The first face belonged to the District One male, Crown Ringgold, 14. He'd died as a result of an instigated incident with the mines around the Tribute Plates.


The second, District Seven, Bray Hollis, 16, who had instigated said event. He had tossed the simple wooden ball that had set off the sensitive explosives and hence committed suicide. The Hunger Games didn't exactly have any rules, but if they didn't have any they had one. The Games start at the sound of the gong. The Gamemakers setting off the explosions around him. It was a noble act in some eyes. But to Kitinger, it was the most cowardly way to go besides throwing oneself off a cliff.


District eight, the sewing state, was out of the running, both of their tributes dead. The male, Daya Beck, 18, who had been the first official death of the games at her own hands. Wendel June, 15, strong and quick for her size, she had died at Luka's sword.


The ninth district had also lost both of their tributes. The female tribute Kitinger did not recognize but her name was Viand Tersula, 13. The second tribute she recognized as the small boy whose life she had taken shortly after acquiring her sword, Hale Pax, 12.


District Eleven had lost Hov Sachevell, 18, a muscular dark-skinned male. He had been overpowered by her District partner, Luka.


No more cannons came after that and soon the Anthem ended. Kitinger stood in respect. What was a warrior without opponents. She would not let their deaths be in vain. Kitinger would win the Games. It was a fairly successful day. Twenty four tributes. Eight deaths. Sixteen tributes left.


"Let us move," Kitinger said addressing her two allies, "It will be dark soon." Kitinger smiled, a small thing that touched her eyes. She'd looked forward to this part the most, the first night, the thrill of the chase. She shifted the weight of her pack on her shoulders. Kitinger had only taken the most necessary supplies to take, she had no idea what they would run into that night but she had seen past Games where the Careers had been stranded from their Cornucopia and were picked off that way.


It had taken them the entire day to travel the two deserts. They succeeded at avoiding much confrontation. They had just finished scaling the last of the rocks up the cliff to the overhang Cora had spoke about originally. It was located towards the top of a mountain and they were either climbing through woods made mostly of pines at a nearly vertical incline, or they were climbing great chunks of rock.


When they got to the top they found cover and stopped share the last of their water and watch the dead appearing in the sky. It made his eyes sting thinking about all the children whose childhood was stolen from them. Their childhood, their future, their family, their district. Baron grimaced deeply, staring blankly at the sky. He turned and searched Cora's face of her thoughts. The last cannon sounded and Baron stood. "I'm going to scout the area, stay here. I don't want to mistake you for someone else." He gave her a weak smile before he stood, zipping up his jacket black side out, and grabbing his trident.