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 Arena 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 otherwise it's gone.

The Arena.

The Tributes are put into the tube by their Stylists and emerge into blistering dry heat and blinding sun. They stand atop a red rock peak, in a circle, with the Cornucopia in the center. They're dressed in cargo shorts and tank tops, men and women, and hiking boots. The sun beats down mercilessly, and there's a fifty-foot drop around them from this natural pedestal.

The Cornucopia's bounty includes rock climbing harnesses, water bottles, ropes, climbing grips for shoes, globes, sunscreen, and cans of food and water. Naturally, weapons are also available - crossbows, bear traps, "walking sticks", hunting knives.

The wildlife waits for them below: gila monsters with poisonous mouths, violent javelinas, shrikes bred to go for the eyes, rattlesnakes with hallucinogenic venom.

5...

4...

Ropes and carabiners hang from the sides of the peak, for those who don't die in the bloodbath or fall to their dooms.

3...

2...

1...

With the sound of the gong, the Arena has begun.

-/-

The Party.

Back in the Capitol, the Cornucopia is being celebrated with a lavish party inside a hologram room. The walls of the party shift around to various exotic locales, but the theme of the evening seems to be Heat. Saunas and tanning beds are available, and Capitolites, their makeup practically dripping off from the temperature, are in hot tubs or stripped down in fluffy robes. Avoxes, tongueless and sweaty, bring ice cold drinks to everyone.

Anyone who's anyone is invited.

Comments

[shenunigans]

By this point, Dave is getting to be the expert on Arenas, even if he consistently loses them. This is his fourth and he's loathing it the moment he rises upward and feels the heat tickle his pale skin like a devilish trickster with a hot iron. If he doesn't get stabbed to death, he's probably going to shrivel into a crisp.

He avoids the Cornucopia, figuring Loki will probably hit it before he does. His priority is to look for people, and birds, and birds who are now people. Should be easy enough considering Davesprite currently looks like a walking Fanta ad.

Sure enough, the familiar voice all full of swears and distress is enough to draw Dave in closer to search for himself lying on the ground all turnways. "Do you need a hand or should I just get down on the ground and lie next to you too?" He's crouching anyway. "This is fucking genius. You are literally the same colour as the sand."

[anachronologistics]

Well. At least Fanta is better than Faygo.

At any rate...

If they were anyone else, they would probably find it weird to hear their own voice talking to them. As it is, Davesprite doesn't think twice, doesn't bat an eyelash. Besides, it would be harder to extricate himself from the brambly mess without getting all twisted up about the fact that Real Dave is moseying his way down to come save his stupid ass.

"But I mean, are you really surprised it's fucking genius?" eeeeexcept his voice is utterly flat. No, seriously, this is embarrassing, and he would really prefer it if he could claw his own way out of this bush. "Like, holy shit, I should've been part owl."

[shenunigans]

Fanta is infinitely better, Dave would never do the injustice of comparing himself to such swill. Probably.

There's something to be said about talking to yourself in general, really. With Davesprite being decidedly less like a sprite, it makes the whole situation a little more burrowed into the asshole of uncanny valley. He's sure the Capitol gets a kick out of it, at least, maybe some sucker will send them water for looking endearingly deluded.

"A little bit, yeah." He admits before moving to just sit in front of that bush until such a time as dignity loses out over practicality. He won't offer a hand until he is good and ready. "We're barely a half hour in and you're pulling out all the stops? Save it for the showdown, homie. Bury yourself in that shit and burst out like you're reenacting alien. Noises and all. You'll be a victor in no time."

[anachronologistics]

There is a very, very brief moment where Davesprite instinctively wants to point out that as buttwarming as this reunion is, it probably isn't the best idea for Dave to just sit down with his back exposed like he is, even for the sake of ironic humor. But it's a very brief moment, one cut short at the realization that Dave also isn't the one in a tangle of brambles and thorns, and when push came to shove he would be more than capable of handling shit when it all got too hot to handle.

At the end of the day, nature instinctively dictates that the predator will more than likely to go after the weaker prey, and in this case it will be the one who can't seem to remember how his legs work. That's fair enough.

He manages to get his left arm untangled, which is good because that's the one that's holding the knife. Means he can cut the vines.

"Well, I figured I'd get higher ratings for classy reenactments and wing-chafe when all this sand gets in my feathers. Then all I'd have to do was hire someone to preen the sand out of my wings for the next six months instead of doing it myself. It's practically a flawless plan."

With his other arm free, it's easier to extricate his feet. The same cannot be said for his wings, however. Davesprite tries to stumblestep forward, and is immediately pulled back by vines digging into the wing with the thinner spread of feathers with another half-cawing "Owfuck!"

"... or maybe I could just cut it off like some kind of homage to Van Gogh. They like that sort of grisly shit, right?"

[shenunigans]

It is, admittedly, not the smartest position to be in. However, Dave feels like he's figured out a little bit of the method to the madness. People spring into attacking at the Cornucopia, then it sort of tapers of. Anyone coming for him now would be crazy when they have nothing to steal but a bird in a bush.

He looks over his back every so often anyway, trying not to focus too intently on Davesprite as he struggles to cut himself free. It's conflicting as hell to watch, because who wouldn't want to give themselves a hand? Pride is a bitch.

"That's what stylists are for. Once you get out, anyway. While you're here you could always flick 'em at people and blind them with your gritty, orange dandruff." They may actually be onto something here and he moves to stand when Davesprite seems to have figured himself out, furrowing his brows as he extends a hand for the knife. "You want an infection in the desert? Shit sounds nasty. You gotta save the dramatics for week five, at least. Invest people into your narrative first."

[anachronologistics]

There comes a time in every young man's life when he's faced with the realization that there are just some times where he has to just swallow his pride; getting your useless, oversized, orange-fanta colored wings stuck in some thorny vines is definitely one of those times.

"You're saying that like we aren't already the master of narrative investment. Also, what the hell, are you really telling me you don't have a blade? Like, I'll even settle for a Swiss army knife."

In light of swallowing his pride, though, he holds the knife out to Real Dave.

[shenunigans]

There will probably be many a time when either Dave is faced with a situation like this in the near future. Dave had entered the Arenas fairly cocky and confident in his ability to pass through without much effort, but they curve ball like nobody would believe. Shit gets nasty, pride means fuck all when you're bleeding out in a fountain.

"If we're masters of it, someone will probably send me a knife soon with a little note about how touching our relationship is. Then I might have to kiss you- no tongue though." He pulls the corner of his mouth to the side, betraying his straight face. "Listen cabbage patch kid, you can whine about that when you stop getting caught in shit."

With that, he takes the knife and rounds the other boy. He takes a moment to judge the best way to do this before he starts making cuts into the vines. "This reminds me of the time I stripped a sentient tree."

[anachronologistics]

"Dude, don't make this weird."

Davesprite tucks his wings as close to himself as he can possibly get them, trying to keep them out of Dave's way. One by one, the vines fall away. When the first wing comes free, it flexes and stretches, not unlike a dude would stretch his leg after sitting on it for too long during a video game binge.

He cocks an eyebrow, "At least tell me it had the decency to tip well. I'd hate to find out we're resorting to servicing sentients of the arbor persuasion for snot."