TEST DRIVE MEME

[etcircenses]

Welcome to Panem. You have been selected to participate in the 75th Annual Hunger Games!

Premise: This Arena is designed to be a small mock arena not all that dissimilar to the in-game arenas we run here at The Games. The party is similar to some of the gathering logs we have inside the Capitol when an Arena begins. Our hope is to give new and prospective players a place to get their feet wet, and get a feel for the fun (and bloody) mess that goes on around here.

This meme is open to anyone and everyone who would like to play. Current cast members, veteran and new, as well as anyone just wanting top drop in and have some fun!

How To Play.

Current cast members - you may tag into this arena in any way you choose, even cast members who aren't or are no longer tributes.

***An important side note, as it is within the confines of the Area in-game, all powers are lessened/nullified to bring any character down to a vincible level. (I.E. Make more magical/super-powered characters easier to actually kill for a normal person). Rule of thumb: If it's a physical difference, the Capitol will not mutilate it out (wings, etc), but other wise it's gone.

The Arena.

Tributes are raised in a circle around the Cornucopia; they are all dressed in safari outfits, including the little hats, and slathered in bug spray and sunscreen. They look amongst each other at the start of the Cornucopia. At the center of the circle is a fountain where a dancing hippo spits water into a circular pool around it. There's an engraving in embossed letters around the one-foot rim of the pool: PANEM NATIONAL ZOO.

Floating in the water of the brass fountain are supplies that the Tributes should find useful: medical kits, sleeping bags, and most importantly, weapons. Ropes, bo staffs, nunchuks, daggers and spears are all in ready supply a mere hundred yard sprint from the Tributes.

There are four paths away from the Cornucopia - into a swampy pit to the south, which, unbeknownst to Tributes, hosts alligators and crocodiles who've missed their scheduled feeding. To the west, into a dark building where boxes cut into the walls reveal that there were once tanks for creepy crawlies, but the glass has been removed. Through a gift-shop to the north, stuffed with plush animals (many of which are filled with razor blades, or other sweet little surprises). Or down an asphalt pathway to the east, winding through tall cages that may provide shelter from the other Tributes - but not necessarily the enclosure's inhabitants.

The countdown blares out in the humid air.

3...2...1...

Let the Games begin.

-/-

The Party.

Back in the Capitol, the Cornucopia is being celebrated with a lavish party. Animal couture is all the rage, and Capitol celebrities have dressed for the occasion by having their teeth elongated and their irises surgically altered to give the appearance of slit pupils. The wine is flowing freely, and the centerpiece of this particular viewing party is what appears to be a pig the size of a hippopotamus being roasted on a spit.

Screens throughout the large ballroom in which this takes place are showing the gruesome footage of the first bloodbath of what promises to be a delightfully ugly Arena. Tongueless Avoxes carry platters with little quail eggs in cups, silently offering them to all the guests. Caesar Flickerman, trademark blue hair now replaced by what appear to be feathers growing directly from his scalp, announces every gory detail between oohing and ahhing over the dinner. Tributes die; Citizens feast.

Everyone who's anyone is invited.

Comments

Rosalia Crescens | Capitol OC (District 3 Escort) | OTA

[capitolite]

Rosa keeps running her tongue over her elongated teeth. They feel odd in her mouth, but she likes it; it makes her feel fierce, just like a leopard. She's dressed to match, except that the leopard print dress she's sporting is the same shade of pink as her hair.

It's been a while since she got to have food quite this fine - it wasn't far off from the fare at home, but since she had to stand on her own feet the amount she could afford had declined. She didn't even have her own avox now, and she was having to cook her own meals; her father said this was another life lesson and part of growing up, but she still thought he was just being deliberately cruel to her, just as helping her get this Escort job was cruel. There wasn't even a District Three any more, so Rosa didn't see why they needed to still participate in the Games. It made it so much harder to get sponsors, as though the Capitolites wanted to see the Tributes lose. She'd tried her most winning smile and offered favours with the Crescens family, but no one seemed interested so far.

When she watches her Tributes fall in the Cornucopia, then, it's with a mixture of excitement at the drama of the bloodbath - this had always been her favourite part of the Games as a child - and relief that another one's fallen, and that's one less tribute she'll need to try to convince people to support.

[ghostlyclink]

"Oh, now there is a bit of historical trivia. Not one single hybrid so far. Wherever do they come up with these lands of fantasy?"

Sadie had found no reason to stray from her normal color scheme either, her dress a tight fitting number made of black feathers and nothing else. She'd forgone the teeth and eye display, but had enough of the same feathers woven into her hair to make it appear she simply didn't have any hair at all under theme. The comment itself was more off-hand than anything, made as she leaned against the bar to order her next round (the avox's were emphasizing the wine at this party, of all things. Simply shocking, really), but she did enjoy a touch of conversation as she awaited her martini being properly mixed.

[confidentially]

Jessica didn't understand why Rosa was there either, if it made the new escort feel any better. District Three's miserable little victor was content to be left alone, to look beautiful and cold and snarl into her cocktails if people got too close. That lack of courtesy extended to the flamboyant little escort as well.

"Try not to look so thrilled." She'd looked up from her drink long enough to wrinkle her nose at Rosa. "You'll scare people away."

Kiki Hyacinth | Capitol OC (High End Call Girl) | OTA

[synthetica]

[She's bucking the trend; instead of fangs and animal eyes, she's sporting a white fur cape over a form-fitting black dress. Better to be less flashy than the Capitol debutantes, more like a clean slate, to be painted on as any potential client wishes. Even in heels she's short, and looks younger than her regal presence suggests. She sips at a flute of champagne and throws secretive smirks to those she knows – many in the Capitol set have paid for her company, but per the rules she's always discreet about such liaisons.

This is certainly not a party she would attend for fun, but with a new round of the Games starting, Madame Rosemary thought it would be a good idea to have operatives on the floor. Official tongues do tend to wag when engorged on their own power.

If you happen across her as she sashays by, she will meet your eyes and flash a warm smile, nodding in greeting. Her voice is high and cutesy, and there is the slightest bit of mischief dancing in her dark irises.]

Lovely night, isn't it?


[OOC: I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING LMAO. I thought an OC who was a call girl gathering secrets in some facet (ala Finnick in the series, although not necessarily for President Snow) would be an interesting angle. I'm still working on the details, so some practice would be greatly appreciated!]

[contrarianlibrarian]

[These louder parties aren't exactly China's style either; she'd kill to be viewing in the comfort of her own, quiet home. But an Escort has to do her job, so here she is.

In honor of the festive occasion, her dark blouse is sleeveless to show off the tattoos twisting around her arms; a multicolored bird has been added on one shoulder to match the theme.

She casts one sideways look at the screen to see if any of her tributes are getting killed. No one right now--good.]

For some. I assume your favorites haven't fallen yet?

I have no idea what I'm doing either so there u go XD

[lex_paciferat]

[He'd told himself he ought to get out for the night, while the media is sufficiently distracted by what's going on in the Arena instead of sticking their noses into the goings-on at the Training Center. He doesn't exactly feel comfortable at a party like this--never has shaken that sense of being a foreigner in the midst of all the glitter and color--but with an invitation and the understanding that the booze will be cheap, he might as well stick around for a while.

He's clad in a velvet jacket in a tame shade of violet, neither wanting to look under-dressed nor dramatic, hoping to not attract too much attention. The wine's good stuff, too good to be going for the price it's at tonight, and he's on his second glass when his gaze glances across Kiki. There's that fleeting moment where it occurs to him that she looks nice, rather pretty without trying too hard--and then she opens her mouth.

Ugh. That voice. Well, he can at least be polite.]

First party I've been to where half the guests look like they could tear out my throat with their teeth. [He gives a wry smile.] I'm hoping no one turns out to be an angry drunk.

/reaches for <3

[conifer]

[The mentors had been obligated to attend the party tonight. Usually Emily would be back in the District Seven suite with Jason, assessing the aftermath of the bloodbath at the Cornucopia before frantically telephoning potential sponsors to get early support, before the other Districts got in there. She'd initially balked at the idea of having to dress up and rub shoulders with the Capitol's elite in person, but she knew that appearances like this were good for her Tributes. And if it meant that she didn't have to spend another evening alone with Jason Compson, all the better.

Still, she hangs back awkwardly as the evening gets under way, never the best at being the centre of attention. As the countdown finishes and the Tributes run for the Cornucopia, she feels the familiar panic grip her once again, only she can't let it overpower her here, she needs to stay strong rather than have all the newspaper gossip columns tomorrow recount how she'd seized up, dived for the nearest exit, vomited at the sight and smell of blood and entrails burned forever into her mind. She could take Jason ragging on her about it, but not the humiliation it would bring to Seven to lapse in so high profile a venue.

Instead she feels her eyes glaze over, transporting herself back to the forests of her home, hearing the calls of the birds in the treetops, smelling the petrichor, bathing in the greens and browns rather than the garish bright colours of the Capitol. And when she hears someone address her, it doesn't register for her to respond for a long moment. Eventually she turns toward Kiki with a blank look on her face.]

It's a nice party, if that's the sort of thing you like.

[She's well aware her chances of acquiring sponsors here are dwindling by the moment.]

Jak | Tribute (Party attendee)

[darklighthero]

The warrior prince wasn't there to greet the guests hanging around the party area. Jak wanted answers. All he had wanted to do that day was relax and find Daxter, and maybe find answers about this .... place. He eyed the crowd, but he wore what he usually wore even though they were colorful, Mar's armor shone over his body. His father would be proud.

Boromir, Son of Denethor | That one movie with the mind-control ring | OTA

[tarried]

The last thing Boromir remembers is the comforting heft of his sword in hand, and Aragorn's face looming above him. The world had gone soft and dark around the edges, blood at his lips as the arrows he'd been shot with wrought their terrible toll. He'd failed, miserably, and the knowledge of his failures dragged him down, down, down; deep into the cold grasp of death.

He did not expect to wake up. Nor did he expect to wake up in a place so utterly different from the grassy slopes of Amon Hen, populated with a vast array of people more myth than not. But to some grace -- or curse, a punishment for the greed he succumbed to -- Boromir awoke. With the arrow wounds healed, and new clothes forced upon him, he stood upon a platform ready to dive into this newest quest presented to him.

It is enough to drive fear in the belly of any being, the dilapidated, horror of this place. But Boromir is -- was -- Captain of the White Tower. He bore his people's weight upon his shoulders, faced down the hideous, Mordor born scum without pause. His heart has long since been hardened towards the horror of war.

This is not that.

The gong sounds, and he lurches forward, eyes roving over the land before him, and the weapons lurking in the brass fountain. His own sword was not there, but a spear, a staff -- those he could use. Even if he was repulsed by the idea of attacking innocents locked in this place with him. Should someone find themselves at the mercy of one of the beasts in the water, he will help instead of leaving them to their fate.

[alwaysshielded]

Animals kept for recreation, floating prizes, and all the other nonsense that came along with these first opening moments. Were she not so aware of the small but terrible chance that those she swore alliance with may not return upon their death, she would not lower herself to such entertainment and sport. As it was, however, Cassandra could not simply let such advantages pass by without some attempt to obtain them. But it did not mean she had to be so very base and bloodthirsty, particularly with those newly introduced to this nightmare.

"Do not stand in my way."

It was short, but sound advice, handed to the clearly disoriented man. One which she had not seen in the training rooms before this spectacle, so likely one pulled from home and tossed into this mess with little warning. A shameful, disgusting practice, but what could be done?

"Assist, if you will. Or stand aside."

i'm sorry, couldn't resist

[theevenstar]

Arwen has become better at evading the bloodfest that is the rush for the Cornucopia, though this time she managed to filch a bo-staff without enduring grievous injury. There is a long slash across her left upper arm, bestowed by another Tribute, and some bruising underneath her clothes, but nothing serious enough to put her health at risk.

The crocodile-like thing advancing on her is another matter.

It's small, most likely an adolescent, but even young monsters are capable of inflicting great damage. Clearly, heading south was a very bad idea, and she's backing in his direction; trying to keep an eye on the reptile and stay aware of others in the area who might decide to preemptively take her out.

She wasn't at the council, nor did she mingle with many of the assembly before the Nine left her father's home, so Boromir probably won't recognize her. The pointed ears peeking above twilight-dark hair are a dead giveaway to her race, though.

Koj | Tellos (comics) | OTA

[bythyside]

He woke free of wounds and missing his entire party. It was explained to him why he was here, as they tried to dress him in a costume. His sword was no longer with him. Jarek was no longer here. Koj worried for his little human friend, but the man-tiger had bigger things to worry about right now.

Like being brought out on a platform, barely large enough for his large form to stand on, though he did fit well enough, legs bent a bit, feet stable. It was ironic, he though, that he be brought to a place like a zoo. Back home there were no Zoo's, just slavers holding unwilling people in cages. He'd been born a slave, so this simple thought made him growl softly to himself.

Squinting into the light he looked around, sniffed, taking in the others around him, the water and the weapons, the first aid kits and everything he could see with his sharp eyes. He wanted a survival kit. First air or a bed roll. Weapons would be good as well but he had his claws, his teeth. He would rather not fight anyone though. Innocent blood shouldn't be spilled. He didn't like to kill either and generally went for a wounding hit if he had to.

This entire thing was way over the top, even for slavers.

When the gong sounds he moved, deciding to go forward for things he or someone else might need. He sniffed, keeping his senses open, moving at fast speed on two legs only, though he leaned towards the ground fast enough that a giant paw of a hand hit the ground once in a while to push him harder.

Get first aid, a bed roll, maybe a weapon, then take off. Perhaps to the West. Perhaps to the East. Somewhere outdoors seemed safer.

Kurloz Makara | Homestuck | Stylist AU | OTA

[quiethumerus]

He did not bother to sharpen his teeth to fangs. The stitches over his lips remain in, with no sign of going anywhere. But his eyes are altered, not as to fit in with the vogue cliche of slits, but to rectangular pupils. He knew the moment he got them, they were perfect.

He dons dark horns, fitted claws in part of an outfit of frills, and a pair of cloven boots. He feels like the beast of an old forgotten fairytale. His tributes meanwhile will be living the modern day varients, as the chosen heroes.

In a zoo. A bunch of animals and their gaping guests. Oh. That was a good one. Very tongue in cheek. He rarely makes noise, but those standing near might hear a faint chuckle.

When he drinks wine, it is from a swirling shimmering straw. When he is spoken to, he writes upon pad of paper. The avoxes aren't spared a glance as he observes the events unfolding-- both on screen, and around him.

Richor | OC | OTA

[ulfr]

Richor can't say he's exceedingly pleased to be in the predicament he's in. Between descendants of mer, changelings, and the undead, Richor had his hands full back home and he still has much to do back there in Dyrne. The last thing he remembers is walking out to the ocean to meet the foremothers of his companion, so close to to his goal, to the city where there's documents hidden, guarded, about Richor's special circumstances.

Ah, well. The path to self-discovery is momentarily blocked and so is his link with the rain. He wishes he could hear it still, the way it chimed in his ear when attacks were about to come and its constant companionship during long, hard nights. He could spend hours talking to the rain, his closest love, but here? Here the rain is gone. It's nothing. He hopes its alright back in Dyrne. In the moment, Richor has more pressing matters to attend to, matters of arming himself and running away from these who seem to be determined to lop off his neck with nary more than a seconds thought. Richor has never been one for excess violence, more the peacekeeper now than he was when he was younger, but there's something in the air that tells Richor that violence and blood is going to be unavoidable.

There's no need for the rain to tell him that. Richor isn't stupid-- in fact, he's built his life around being smart. A sellsword, a vagabond. You can't do either of those if you're too dumb to avoid deep waters and deep forests.

Richor has his eyes on a pretty little blade up by the cornucopia but rationally he knows he'll need the supplies more. He's given a cursory glance around the arena only to find he's unfamiliar with seemingly every plant around him, every tree. There's no doubt about it: he'll need everything besides the sword first. The-- what looks like to be-- medical supplies and a bedroll. Just one. Richor can do that. Laying down knuckle has never been something Richor shied away from and while he'll avoid using his fists if he can, Richor knows what he needs. He'll take the risk of death to get it.

The dangerous animals? Those just add to the fun. He's never missed the rain and its warnings more.

Maggie Greene | The Walking Dead

[willtosurvive]

Once upon a time, Maggie Greene wouldn't have taken the risk of running into a swarm of potential death and chaos for the chance at a knife and a bag of random supplies. That Maggie was long gone. She knew she was fast enough, smart enough. She'd done supply runs with Glenn, fought Walkers and people alike. So as soon as the horn sounded, she sprinted for the fountain, splashing into the water without slowing down and her hand closed on a machete before most-though not all- of the tributes had a chance to decide what they were doing. She dodged another tribute and grabbed a bag, and then she was gone, sprinting for the tall cages, not stopping until she'd lost herself and the sound of cannons was almost muted in the distance.

Leaning to the side she attempted to catch her breath, before taking stock of what she'd managed to grab. She heard footsteps on the other side of the enclosure she was standing behind, and pressed her back against the wall, machete in her hand held ready. When the footsteps rounded the corner she drew in a sharp breath before lunging at the unknown person, ready to kill them if they didn't change her mind very quickly.

OH MY GOD!!!!

[schnapp]

Beth's been in a lot of arenas by now, but this one really makes her stomach turn. It's a zoo, and it's clear that they're the real attractions here. To the people watching back in the city, they're just like animals to be captured and toyed with for entertainment. She's been through a lot of arenas and she knows how it goes by now. She understands how to stay alive, and how to keep the people she loves safe for as long as she can. It's never enough, and the failure of it is always weighing down on their shoulders regardless of what they do.

But she has to try. Because Beth doesn't believe in giving up, not any more. And if she dies in the process (and she has, the past couple of times), then she'll die. But she won't lay down and do it.

She runs for the Cornucopia because she's determined to do her part in grabbing supplies, anything useful for her and Daryl and Rick to use. Beth runs fast and she doesn't stay in one place long enough to become a target, dodging blows and ducking under bodies to grab a pack and run to safety. She's out of breath by the time she gets there, and the sudden weight of a body smashing into her takes her by surprise with a yelp.

"Hey! Wait --"

We don't have to fight is what she's trying to say, but she's also attempting to gain leverage by twisting her body weight around. She catches sight of brown hair, and the familiar jawline of her sister, and stops fighting. "Maggie! Maggie, wait! It's --" her feet dig into the cement, holding her ground. "It's Beth!"

James "Rhodey" Rhodes | MCU

[withanx]

And here he thought his day couldn't get any stranger.

Any stranger than dealing with super soldiers who breathe fire. Any stranger than finding out the Mandrain is just some guy named Trevor who was more interested in watching soccer then the gun Rhodey was shoving in his face. Any stranger than infiltrating an oil rig full of Extremis soldiers in order to save Pepper and the president with nothing but the polo shirt on his back and a .45 as his only weapon.

He's never been proven wrong in such a spectacular way, before.

His eyes catch on the words of the fountain as he's raised up on his platform. PANEM NATIONAL ZOO. He understands the situation -- it's some sort of end-all be-all ultimatum. It doesn't matter how many people enter the arena, only one can survive. A fight to the death.

If this ends up being a Tony Stark training simulation, he's going to be pissed.

He waits down the timer and carefully takes a step off the platform, observing his surroundings. There are weapons in the pool, no guns but there are bo staffs and daggers. Rhodey's not going to play this game, not if he doesn't have to, but he's not stupid enough to leave himself undefended. He's well aware of how people react in these sort of situations. He's seen it before.

He fishes out his weapons, clipping the dagger to his belt for easy access should the worst happen. He's using the bo staff more as a walking stick than an actual weapon. He makes his way towards the gift shop, quietly, trying to make as little noise as possible. He wonders if it's possible to wait these games out.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

This is Sam's third arena, and by now, he kind of feels like he should be used to it. He isn't, not by a long shot, except maybe for the familiar surge of adrenaline caused by the initial rush for the Cornucopia. Sam's not sure of his chances in this kind of environment without some initial supplies.

He goes immediately for a med kit, because Sam knows his strengths, and follows by grabbing at a dagger. No guns, as usual, but at least he's got something to defend himself. After he manages to get away with his supplies unscathed, Sam follows the same strategy he has the last two times - trying to hunt down his friends. Safety in numbers, always.

Fortunately, he's not alone on the path he'd chosen to head down. Unfortunately for him, the man he comes across isn't anyone he's looking for. The guy looks familiar in a way Sam can't place at the moment, but honestly the more pressing concern is trying not to get his ass jumped.

Sam takes a few steps back, falling into a defensive stance at the same time as he holds his hands up. "I'm not looking for a fight, here, all right?"

Well hello there

[arrogantalloy]

When the countdown ended Tony went straight for the gift shop, no sense lingering in the open. Experience taught him this much.

Once in the gift shop Tony starts rifling through everything looking for anything that he can work with, anything electrical. Grabbing a plush animal to throw to one aide a little too hard causes him to cut his hand. He drops it with a hiss and sucks on the wound without a thought, looking up and out the window when he does.

And that is when he spies Rhodie.

He doesn't think when he sees him. Heading straight to the door to lean casually on the door frame with a smirk. Its almost been a year but he still has his image.

"If this is a rescue mission. You're late."

fandral the dashing | marvel cinematic

[swashbuckles]

Fandral is not down with being kidnapped from his duties. He's especially not down with being kidnapped to provide entertainment in some gladiator match that even Loki would balk at thinking up. Maybe. He hopes.

He doesn't sprint for the Cornucopia with the others, but he does steal a large knife from a subsequently downed Tribute who got a little too close to the alligator pit. Any direction looks bad, frankly, but the tall Asgardian warrior picks one at random. East it is, toward the cages and their former occupants, no doubt.

There will be an eye kept out, of course, for those who look like they need a little assistance. Gladatorial death games are no excuse for poor manners.

these two don't know each other but how could I resist, hello!

[tookthewheel]

Bucky left the Cornucopia behind with one bag of supplies slung across his shoulder and a coil of wire in the pocket of his ridiculous costume. It's not much but it'll do for a garotte when the time is right. He'd hoped for a knife or similar but he'd learned by now to take what he could get in this situation, with the need to survive taking paramount importance.

Now that's done it's time to regroup with his allies. Tony's win leaves one less head to worry about, so he's off searching for Sam, Bruce and the others before doing anything else. The search will give him chance to scout the arena at the same time.

The tall cages look to be easily climbed and he heads towards them, intending to get a high vantage point to look at the arena when he rounds a corner and runs into an unfamiliar blonde man. At once Bucky drops down into battle-ready stance, eyes narrowed at the knife the other man holds.

He's not looking for a fight at this point but that doesn't mean he's not ready to get into one.

wow sorry i'm late on this

[worldsaway]

This is nothing new to Thor by now, it's simply another style of battle that he's learning to face. His objective isn't to kill, as much as the Game Makers would like that, his objective is to assist his allies and defend the weak.

He's made a habit of befriending most anyone with the intent of finding more allies, so far he's not met many so foolish as to challenge him rather than accept his friendship. He approaches the tall figure with caution, but familiarity dawns on him quickly as he inelegantly tromps through the surrounding bushes.

"Fandral?" The question escapes before he can stop himself, voice gaining confidence as he gets a better look at the man before him. "Fandral! My friend!" He calls out, taking long strides to approach the man with open arms.

The Stupid Sexy Murder Bot | That Movie Where You Might Never Know His Age | OTA | spoiler warning

[stupidsexymurderbot]

This... This is wrong. This is unsettling. This is like waking once again, but this time, there is no threat, no chained intelligence telling him to calm, to listen, to obey. There is nothing familiar. Reaching for the net is like reaching for a severed limb -- all the commands are processing, all artificial neurons are firing. And there is nothing. No response. No sense of integration and flowing data like a river through the back of his mind.

A severed hand, a lost sense.

There are no others.

For a brief instant, the feeling of loss and isolation overwhelms the indignation and the rage. Fear floods and the metal man surges to his feet, intending to take to the air and leave this place, tearing through all that stands in his path. He sees cages, metal bars -- a prison, this is a prison, zoo, animals, trapped and captive put on display, humanity keeps lesser life forms as amusement --

No, no, no. They will not.

Nothing happens. He doesn't so much as rise an inch off the ground.

The wordless snarl from metal lips probably would have been better suited to one of the once-caged beasts of the dilapidated zoo. But for the moment, he doesn't quite care. Composure, or what's left of it, will come once he finds something to support his data, to download into.

A way to survive.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Another Cornucopia, another arena. By now Sam knows the drill, knows to grab what he can and run, hunt for his friends. Survive long enough to protect them as best as he can, be entertaining enough that they'll bring him back, so he can keep fighting.

He's got this.

And then he runs into a guy made of metal who looks like he's having trouble getting up. It'd maybe be more of a surprise if two of his best friends weren't cyborgs, but this is still a hell of a lot different than them.

It makes him wary, even more than coming across someone he doesn't know in the arena usually does. For all he knows, this could be another one of the Capitol's tricks. Even if it - him? - seems just as pissed to be here as Sam'd been.

"Hey," Sam says cautiously, staying out of arm's reach, for the moment. "You need a hand?"

Miss Gritta | Ressha Sentai ToQGer

[shiningeyes]

She has no idea how she has found herself in this mess, nor where they found safari clothes large enough for her, nor why she couldn't call Crows to her or send for her Darkliner, but Gritta is handling it. This isn't the first time that she has been alone and in trouble. Nor the first time that she has been on the run. And oh, the running she has done... the moment the countdown finished and the horrible fight broke out for supplies, she turned her large frame right on around and ran away. She's no fighter. Not in the least. If she's going to find herself any sort of victory here, she'll find it her own way on her own time.

All her running has brought her to something unexpected, though. A gift shop, of all things? "...oh!" And still so full of so many things! So many adorable toys! Her eyes quite literally light up, their illumination soft in the dimness of the store. There's no way for her to know that there are dangers here, no long list of bad arena experiences to inform her actions. She goes bounding up to the main display, eager to reach in and pick up a particularly soft and friendly-looking panda. And in her bounding, knocks over a metal rack of postcards and sticker books with a noisy clatter.

"Oh dear..." She has made a mess. A terrible mess. And more than a bit of noise. Did someone hear? Is she going to have to hide? Careless, careless, she's being so careless...

why hello there

[whydoyoushine]

The noise has caught the attention of someone else on the other side of the store who had been crouched down investigating an already wrecked display of holographic trading cards. He'd been quietly opening up all the packages and admiring the shiny holograms printed on each one when a crash cut through his concentration.

When he hears that crash, he's more annoyed than anything else. He'd been very busy there, studying these shiny things. Zed reaches for the long hunting knife he'd taken off of someone else who had come staggering out of the Cornucopia and springs to his feet, ready to take on whoever might dare disturb him. "Who's--" The threat dies off quickly when he realizes exactly who's there. "Gritta?"