Although the mood in the Capitol is...taut, once the Tributes are in the transportation craft, things seem to lighten. The peacekeepers almost seem jovial - as jovial as peacekeepers ever seem. About half the Tributes are checked over and given an injection into their tracking device.

In the underground room, the stylists have all their prep teams running busy, dressing up the tributes in bright costumes, chatting with each other, clearly excited to have so much freedom over what their Tributes are wearing in. Each one is dressed in a personalized costume, elaborate, and entirely soft.

Finally the Tributes are placed on their pedestals and sent on up, all gussied up.

25 - 24 - 23

The light is blinding for a moment, before the candy-colored world around them comes into focus. And it's not just candy-colored - it is actually candy. Some Tributes might be reminded of the game Candy Land, if it was something in their home world. Music plays, scarily cute animals roam, and every thing just looks so gosh-darn happy.

20 - 19 - 18 - 17 - 16

The Cornucopia sits, candy-striped itself, and over-flowing with a generous bounty of food, weapons, and supplies. Even these all reflect the nature of the arena, brightly-colored, and cheerful-looking, just begging to be gathered up.

11- 10 - 9 - 8

They've all been warned not to step off their pedestal early. But as the final number ticks off, those Tributes that had their tracking devices adjusted in the transport suddenly feel a sting starting in their arms. A slightly diluted version of what Ariadne was given the day before is dumped in their veins.

The dilution doesn't help them, of course; it just causes the poison to take effect more slowly.

5 - 4

3

2

1

Go.

The burning is starting for half of them, spreading through their body, lighting their nerves on fire. Within 10 minutes it's effecting their motor skills, causing them to stagger, twitch, to move against their will.

Those who are small fall faster, barely lasting 15 minutes in the bloodbath. The stronger and bigger among them might make it 30 minutes at most.

By the time the bloodbath is over, the Cornucopia is surrounded by corpses. Half of the Tributes have fallen without even a single competitor having to touch them.


[OOC: Don't forget the OOC Arena post, especially those of you running for the Cornucopia. Every Tribute must post to this post. There will be a Cornucopia thread, and anyone else feel free to post as you will. Please add a tag with your character's name.

Those who were poisoned are anyone in group 2. You will have a second post up shortly.]

WHO ☣ Chris and open
WHAT ☣ Half cocked plans
WHERE ☣ Tomorrowland and Main street
WHEN ☣ early evening and second day
WARNINGS/NOTES ☣ Chris is trying to play it safe this time. Feel free to take advantage of it if you want

( I am the terror that trips in the night.... )

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

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


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



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



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




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



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

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

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

Who| Chris, Wesker, open
What| Chance meetings in the arena
Where| Around the glacier, mostly near his own private hidey hole.
When| day 2 and on?
Warnings| Derpy angsty Chris?  (Probably death)

Chris was staying close to one of the cracks in the ice, he knew it was dangerous, but also knew it would probably be a better place to lay traps if he had to.  The S.T.A.R.S. gunner was going to try to wait it out a little.  Though yeah like things ever go the way he plans.  <i>Stay away from that kid Kevin and I should be good.</i>  He was hoping someone else took the kid out, or the cold did before he had to face him again.  He had one kill already, his mind flicking back to Eliot, whom he hadn't meant to kill, he had tried to help the guy who he had shared drinks with just days before.  

Shaking his head he focused on the task at hand, he needed fire to  keep warm, but needed to hide the smoke, last thing he needed was someone coming to take him out just yet.

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


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


20 - 19 - 18


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


 12 - 11 - 10 -


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


4


3


2


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


Let the Games begin.

WHO| Kevin, Chris, Lindsey, and anyone else who needs Kevin to kill them
WHAT| Kevin's final kills in the Arena
WHERE| Most likely the forest. Let me know if you want him anywhere else.
WHEN| The last few days of Arena 4
WARNINGS/NOTES| Violence, death, probably some cursing

WHO: Albert Wesker and OTA
WHAT: It's a shiny new tribute! Come and get him!
WHEN: A few days before the end of Arena 4
WHERE: Tribute launch site (near what's left of the ruins), then anywhere your little hearts desire.
WARNINGS: Wesker's ego. Violence and death.

The tribute appeared as the last echoes of the announcement faded over the trees, standing tall and proud as his pedestal rose slowly to the surface with a soft mechanical purr. The platform clicked flush and silence fell.

An unnatural silence broken only by the gentle rush of the brine smelling breeze. The night creatures were holding their breaths, waiting and watching.

A new predator was in their midst.

Beneath the artificial moon, Albert Wesker stood still and simply...looked. Studied. His nose gently flaring as he breathed, deep and even, and tasted the air.

He had questions - how had he gotten here? How had these people taken him, and just who were these people exactly - but he pushed them away, schooling his mind to back to the task at hand where it belonged.

Survive, they'd said. Told him as the metal had closed around him.

His mouth pulled, an amused smirk. Survive?

Albert Wesker didn't survive. He thrived.

A glow appeared, a bright, ruby tinge behind the dark lenses that even now - here in the dark of night - he still wore, and then, Wesker moved.

WHO | Chris Redfield and open
WHAT | Chris risked exploring the lower levels and now he's sick as a dog.
WHEN | week in
WHERE | just within the cover of the woods.
WARNINGS / NOTES | it's Chris... going PG to be safe.

( blech )