dirk strider тιмaeυѕтeѕтιғιed (
gundamkind) wrote in
appearifier2012-04-02 04:43 pm
(no subject)
warning for adult content and possible triggers:
violence, death, nonconsent and all around questionable situations.
Congratulations, Tribute.
You have been selected to participate in the Hunger Games.
The rules are simple: there can only be one victor.
You have to kill everyone else or die.
The last one standing wins.
May the odds be ever in your favour.
⚔
.Relationship.
1. ENEMIES: in for the kill
The truth is you've been plotting each other's death for a long time. The only thing different about this situation is that everyone else actually wants you to off each other. Who cares if both of you are probably going to die anyway: no one is taking this bastard down except you.
2. ROMANCE: lovers in a dangerous time
What do lovers do when they know they're about to die? Last kiss, last words, last fuck? Maybe you're desperately trying to protect each other from the rest. Maybe you're the last two left alive. What sacrifices are you willing to make? How far will you allow each other to go?
3. ALLIES: set your arms down
It's in both of your best interests to stick together. Two together is more deadly than one, and you can pool supplies and weapons. Of course, this arrangement is most definitely temporary. Maybe it'll fall apart tonight, or tomorrow, or next week. Maybe your alliance has already run its course, and it's about to fall apart...right now.
4. TORTURE: death's not the worst
Sure, the point is to kill them. But why leave it at that? Maybe you've always secretly gotten off on this sort of thing, or maybe you've just cracked under the stress. When everyone is going to die, there's no point in sticking to all those rules society laid down for you any more. You've already incapacitated them; there's no way they can fight back. Might as well have some fun, right?
5. VICTORY: the finish line
You've done it. Last one standing. You've chosen to live, and no one but you knows how much that choice cost you, because they're all dead. At this point there's nothing that will stop you from stepping up to claim victory. You killed every other tribute. Or did you?
.Scenerio.
1. Train ride.
You've just been chosen to participate in the annual Hunger Games. Maybe you knew your number was coming up, maybe you thought that it would never be you. None the less the Reaping is over and your fate is sealed.
2. Interviews.
You've got to earn those sponsors, net that attention, win the crowds over so you've got a better chance of getting out of there alive. Maybe you need to practice, maybe you need to have a word with a fellow tribute over something they've said.
3. Training.
The Games have not yet begun. You're forbidden from fighting, but maybe that won't stop you. Maybe you just want to show off and give them a taste of what they're in for. Maybe you're planning an alliance and you need to know your teammate's strengths... and weaknesses.
4. Banquet.
You've just been lifted up into the arena and the cornucopia is in sight. Do you run for it or away? Better hope your alliance mates get out alright.
5. Hunting.
Friend, foe, stranger? Who cares. You're trying to meet up with them. Maybe to forge an alliance, maybe to kill them yourselves.
6. Dying.
Should have zigged when you zagged. Looks like the odds were never in your favor.
7. Winner.
You've won. Now you're on your way back home. Your friends are waiting, your enemies, and forbidden or not you, might just find you're done done yet.
8. Revolutionary.
No more. You won't allow this to happen again.
Let the Games begin.
violence, death, nonconsent and all around questionable situations.
THE HUNGER GAMES MEME


Congratulations, Tribute.
You have been selected to participate in the Hunger Games.
The rules are simple: there can only be one victor.
You have to kill everyone else or die.
The last one standing wins.
May the odds be ever in your favour.
⚔
.Relationship.
1. ENEMIES: in for the kill
The truth is you've been plotting each other's death for a long time. The only thing different about this situation is that everyone else actually wants you to off each other. Who cares if both of you are probably going to die anyway: no one is taking this bastard down except you.
2. ROMANCE: lovers in a dangerous time
What do lovers do when they know they're about to die? Last kiss, last words, last fuck? Maybe you're desperately trying to protect each other from the rest. Maybe you're the last two left alive. What sacrifices are you willing to make? How far will you allow each other to go?
3. ALLIES: set your arms down
It's in both of your best interests to stick together. Two together is more deadly than one, and you can pool supplies and weapons. Of course, this arrangement is most definitely temporary. Maybe it'll fall apart tonight, or tomorrow, or next week. Maybe your alliance has already run its course, and it's about to fall apart...right now.
4. TORTURE: death's not the worst
Sure, the point is to kill them. But why leave it at that? Maybe you've always secretly gotten off on this sort of thing, or maybe you've just cracked under the stress. When everyone is going to die, there's no point in sticking to all those rules society laid down for you any more. You've already incapacitated them; there's no way they can fight back. Might as well have some fun, right?
5. VICTORY: the finish line
You've done it. Last one standing. You've chosen to live, and no one but you knows how much that choice cost you, because they're all dead. At this point there's nothing that will stop you from stepping up to claim victory. You killed every other tribute. Or did you?
.Scenerio.
1. Train ride.
You've just been chosen to participate in the annual Hunger Games. Maybe you knew your number was coming up, maybe you thought that it would never be you. None the less the Reaping is over and your fate is sealed.
2. Interviews.
You've got to earn those sponsors, net that attention, win the crowds over so you've got a better chance of getting out of there alive. Maybe you need to practice, maybe you need to have a word with a fellow tribute over something they've said.
3. Training.
The Games have not yet begun. You're forbidden from fighting, but maybe that won't stop you. Maybe you just want to show off and give them a taste of what they're in for. Maybe you're planning an alliance and you need to know your teammate's strengths... and weaknesses.
4. Banquet.
You've just been lifted up into the arena and the cornucopia is in sight. Do you run for it or away? Better hope your alliance mates get out alright.
5. Hunting.
Friend, foe, stranger? Who cares. You're trying to meet up with them. Maybe to forge an alliance, maybe to kill them yourselves.
6. Dying.
Should have zigged when you zagged. Looks like the odds were never in your favor.
7. Winner.
You've won. Now you're on your way back home. Your friends are waiting, your enemies, and forbidden or not you, might just find you're done done yet.
8. Revolutionary.
No more. You won't allow this to happen again.
Let the Games begin.

dirk strider
Banquet. Relationship's up to you?
And he did make something of a scene when he casually disarmed the short-fuse shouty kid and suplexed him right into the ropes course.
He takes in the arena with that same unconcerned poker face--they'd let him keep his sunglasses, his one token from home--as the countdown ticks down. Huge canyon walls. The sparkling river that dug them. Towering rock formations just begging to crash on top of them.
So many places to ambush the weak and unwary.
He's thirteen years old, and he's fucked without a sword.
He can see one, right out in front. It's a cheap piece of shit, he can tell all the way from here, but it's a blade. If he can just grab it and gtfo, he's actually got a chance of making it through the day. Maybe even two, if he's lucky.
He can almost hear his mentor. I know you've got slick moves, coolkid. Show me how fast you can fly from the Cornucopia. A smartass like you doesn't need any of those things, they're like baby blankets for little wigglers who don't have such awesome mentors. Hehehe.
Nope. Sorry, babe. The count slips to zero and he's off, dashing like speed itself towards that shitty sword.]
rolled allies!
But he's got a plan.
One's gotta if they've seen this coming all their lives.
There was no one to vye for his place at the Reaping. No older brother there to cheer him on, to tell him to be safe, to come home in one piece (not that he would have anyhow, but even an ironic fist bump was better than nothing at all) - that room has long been empty, dusty and erroded over time. His superstar brother was long dead for treason, his legacy unto the world nothing more the smouldering ruins of their home in District 3 and a scrawny kid brother who was spared only because he'd gone along quietly. A skinny child with long legs and arms that had clawed and kicked at the arms holding him in place, reaching with desperate hands as he watched the execution unfold.
He's kept his scores purposefully low, the audience wasn't sure what to make of him at the interviews, and he'd been good enough at avoiding detection from the other tributes. He's going to go in, get out, and try to be a sign of hope before this is done. The alliances he's formed are tenuous at best, he's sure most of them are going to die in the bloodbath about to occur.
They've got a meeting place. Sort of. The river. There's no way he's drawing attention to himself now - as much as he'd like to get a knife in one of the trolls to prove that it's wrong to even think about counting the humans out this year, he can't. That's not part of the plan.
The counter goes and he's off. Flitting fast, supplies are more important than a weapon. Give him a dagger and he'll make his own. There's no fucking way any human can overpower a highblood in close quarters, no way, stealth and surprise have to be on their side.
Oh, shit. What was the kid doing? Dirk stops - pauses, just long enough to realize what a mistake it is to do so. The seadweller's on him and he'll be damned if he's going to let this fishy fuck win. ]
Okay!
It's luck and not Dave that scores the cut across the troll girl's up-turned palms. Blue blood wells and he has half a second to feel a twist of sick guilt in his stomach--it's the weirdly nice one who talks too much, he always felt sort of sorry for her--but then they both take off, bolting away from the Cornucopia in different directions. He has to get out of there right the hell now before the other highbloods see him as easy pickings. Even as he runs, he thinks he can hear honking laughter on his heels.
There are two Tributes going at it right in his flight path--gillfucker and that shady guy from District Three.
Watch him, she said, smiling, and never said why.
No time to think. He's got a sword that's tasted troll blood and he needs Moby Dickface to either take his whalebreath elsewhere or stop breathing.
He comes in low from behind and slashes at the back of the seadweller's knees.]
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In a world where trolls and humans struggled to co-exist, the long-lived royalty of the world saw fit to keep the races divided. Even if rustblood was hardly a step up from human, even if resources and living situations were the same, they sat segregated from one another. Only speaking when needing to, seething behind hatred and blame. Each a scapegoat to the other's failures. Dirk had troll friends, back home, unusual in the days spent sitting with his back against the wall talking as if they were equals. Discussing politics, programming, music, movies - all the things they shouldn't dare speak about as if they were experts.
But none of them were fucking sea dwellers.
He's driving the knife into the bastard's flared gills when Dave strikes it's ankles. He's surprised. Pausing only to look down and verify that that sword isn't going to come any further (hardly a pause, but when seconds count the minut hestation could mean life or death) and pulls the weapon out when purple blood starts oozing from it's throat and the ack, hck, hnnk of breath failing to fill his lungs sounds in the air.
Then he's off. He doesn't wait for the kid, if he's smart then he'll follow. No flashstep, not yet, that's a fucking secret weapon and he's not about to blow it.
What's important now is putting distance between themselves and the highbloods, strengthened with supplies and the best weaponry. ]
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But right now he's a direction, and he isn't a troll, and he hasn't yet turned that dagger on Dave. He's got supplies. Dave can do worse. Sticking around to get his brains bashed in would be worse.
The wide, straight run of the main canyon branches off soon enough into a million twisting paths, all walled off by stone as high as Capitol buildings, sheer and oppressing. If they go down the wrong one, it really will be a dead end.
Dave hesitates--to speak, not to run, slowing down is death--but then asks even though it's the last thing he wants:]
Split up?
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Roxy Lalonde
jade harley
8-ish?
He's a little older, almost gawky as his bones grow faster than he can put on weight, even given how much he can put away at dinner. He still eats like their supplies could give out any second--he takes twice as much as he can cram in his stomach and then wraps the rest in a napkin and hoards it for later. Dirk lets him, even though it's clear it's unnecessary. Things aren't as bad here in District Five as they were in Ten. Or back in the Arena.
Or maybe they are, because even though Bro's found him again and led all Dave's friends to join him in Dirk's budding underground revolt, the kid still sleeps curled up around the sword he stole from another Tribute's corpse, the one he smuggled with him when he escaped from the Arena into the ancient sewers of Five. And that's only when he does sleep. Sometimes something in the sewers misfires loud and ringing in their subterranean hideout, and Dave sits up for the rest of the night with knuckles locked white around the sword hilt unless Rose talks him back to bed, or Jane makes him hot cider.
And he always wears long sleeves to hide the ragged, ugly scar from where he dug the tracker out of his own arm.
He pretends this is all normal, though, all part of his cool and inscrutable ways, District Ten's unflappable upstart crow. So when his friends wake in the middle of the night to see him apart from their pile of blankets and cats, he just nods and gives them a quiet "Sup."]
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In any case, she smiles faintly and looks at him before turning her gaze to the kitten, wiggling fingers in front of its face. ]
I don't feel like sleeping.
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[He watches her play with the cat for a moment before unpeeling one hand from his sword--it's something of an effort, his knuckles are stiff from not moving--to rub behind its ear. It's only for a second, and he returns his hand to his lap, flexing it and shaking it out.
John got him a pair of replacement shades, but Dave doesn't wear them at night, not in the hideout. There are heavy shadows under his eyes. They're pretty stark against his skin; he's always been too pale for a boy from Ten.
He sits forward and digs for something in his pocket.]
You hungry?
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You should eat. You didn't have enough dinner.
[ She says irregardless of how much he ate, really, but she remembers vividly enough the Games footage and it'll be a while before she forgets, doesn't quietly go out of her way to make sure he gets more of - anything nice, really. She glances at him long enough that the kitten, feeling neglected, mews loudly and paws at her still hand, making her turn back to it with the slightest of starts and rubbing its belly. ]
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So was today's conspiratorial pow-wow as boring as usual, or should I have stuck around?
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3. & 6.
She's about Dave's age. That's probably why you didn't kill her like you might have with anyone else. If the Districts weren't banned from speaking to each other maybe they could've been friends, he needs more than just his brothers in his life and a pretty girl could have done him a world of good. You keep her close, your alliance strengthened by the knowledge that you're both the perceived underdogs here.
You've been damn good about playing down your skills.
You figured it was going to go down differently. Instead of trying to dig stingers out of your body with shaking hands, you'd be wrestling with the decision to kill the girl. Instead of fearing hallucinations, you'd be wondering how you'd live with yourself. Instead of bleeding all over her shoulder because you weren't fast enough to slice that troll's head off before he stuck you, you'd be imagining how sweet it would be to destroy the Capitol. Brick by brick.
Instead of coming home the victor, you're pretty much screwed. ]
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Oh, she trained just like everyone else, learned her skills, mastered ranged weapons with a speed that put children older than her to shame. District 1 all over, right down to her name, and she'd make a fine tribute one day. Not when she's thirteen, small, still flinches away from the idea of really taking a life, trains for the joy of it and because it's expected rather than with any future aspirations. She has time to grow out of it. District 1 is never short of volunteers.
Except sometimes it is, and sometimes it'd be boring to go with the obvious so names get mixed up, things happen and get changed and get tampered with, and this year's tribute is Jade Harley, oh my, what an honor for such a young girl. Honored right into her own death, and it's not lost on her that this is how it is for everyone else. She isn't stupid though, and her original strategy had been to keep away from the other tributes as long as she could manage it because if she couldn't bring herself to to kill them properly, didn't even have a weapon because she ran from the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, could be overpowered by any one of the other tributes in about half a second - then that was her best option. But it was only a matter of time before she had to abandon that strategy, was chased away from a tree growing edible nuts by a muttation that would've killed her if she hadn't literally run straight into the boy from District 3.
Allies. Friends maybe in a weird sort of way, that she likes him and feels that he might like her as much as he likes anyone he's going to have to kill or let die (she has no illusions about how she'd fare in a fight against him). She's just as shocked as he is now, eyes wide and hands shaking as she tries to push his hands out of the way to get a good look at all the damage.
The troll lies nearby because no one ever expected her to be quite that good of a shot. ]
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His saving grace is he didn't pull the knife out. It's a cruel thing, serrated edges and curved, stuck to the hilt in his side and showing no sign of budging. ]
We have to move. [ He says, his voice steadier than it should be. His sunglasses are slightly skewed and the bright orange eyes are losing their alert look, glossing over. ]
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We can't move you right now!
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[ The stings have already swollen to three times their size, oozing and green. ]
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Eridan Ampora
5 & 5
Wait.
Where's the announcement?
He sits up so sharply he sees stars, and suddenly he's regretting ditching that knife. He runs the numbers again, twice to be sure, and his heart drops into the pit of his stomach when he comes up short. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could he have miscalculated!? Who is he forgetting?
Who is left? ]
tavros nitram
john egbert
jane crocker
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john egbert