thecircus | TEST DRIVE MEME

Entry tags:

test drive meme

TEST DRIVE MEME

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

Premise: Something has gone a bit wrong with the device, and it's pulling in more people than the Capitol had planned. Extras, doubles, or even the same exact version of someone already pulled into Panem, with or without their memories! It's a mess. But somebody has to clean it up. And what better way to do so than to have a televised death-match!?

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. 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.

This meme may not count for in-game CR because it will not be considered as having actually happened, plot-wise.

Guests - welcome to Panem. This is your first time here. Your first Hunger Games. Run for the Cornucopia. Hide in a corner and cry. We don't care. Go crazy. Have fun. Make new friends. Profit.

***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.

Below, you will find a description of the setting for this arena as well as a few details regarding weapons, supplies and hazards.

Setting.

The building is old and musty, light filtering down through the dust particles that every movement sends into the air. It was obviously once a grand and beautiful place, a bustling hub, but this is far from true anymore.

The building consists of multiple levels. The main concourse is a huge, cavernous room, a hard place to hide in, but where all the cornucopia goodies can be found. Blue paint speckled with gold can still be seen clinging to what's left of the room, but any design has long since eroded away. Below that, a floor that ones held business and restaurants of all natures, and lower still levels of tracks, now long past the days of holding trains. Some of these tracks can be followed down a bit, if you want to make the jump down into them, but eventually all end short, either collapsed over the years or long since flooded out, ending in dark, murky water.

You have been outfitted in a pair of heavy cotton denim jeans, solid boots, a light cotton t-shirt and a heavy cotton hoodie. The upper floor can catch a draft, especially as night comes, but below the temperature is moderate, even warm.

Many thins are falling apart here, but the bulk of the building, made of cement and marble, has stood against time well. However, window have long since broken out, and store fronts, benches and counters made of woods have not fared as well.

Al thought electricity stopped here long ago, the Capitol has rigged partial power into the arena. Sometimes. The flickering lights are dim, and unreliable, and seem to always come and go at the worst times. Expect to find yourself exploring a tunnel by flickering lights, to suddenly be plunged into the kind of darkness you can only find under ground. Just you, the rat, and the person following you alone in the cozy darkness.

Supplies.

The Cornucopia is your first, most important resource. Around it are scattered the available resources:

Weapons:
-crowbar
-six-inch serrated hunting knife
-night stick

Equipment:
-day-glow orange backpacks containing the following items:
waterproof matches, high-tensile metal chord (12 feet) iodine
-small crate labeled "apples"
-chords of nylon rope
-metal quart-sized container presumably full of water
-flash lights

**IMPORTANT NOTE!!!!

Since this is a meme, we are going to allow each character the pick of ONE weapon and ONE equipment item, if you believe that your character would risk running for the cornucopia. Just remember. These are high demand items and we rather encourage you to fight over them ;) So long as you all remain civilized about it, of course. If things get out of hand, a mod will step in. Have fun with it, but be realistic too.

Immediate Hazards.

-The rats. They are big, nasty, and hungry. And there are MANY of them, especially if you go into the tunnels.

-Debris. Broken glass, rusted metal, broken concrete, rotten wood. This place has been falling apart for years and you weren't given a tetanus shot before you came here.

-Cave ins. The tunnels have not been maintained. They are not as stable as they once were after years of flooding and damage with no one to patch them up.

-The Water. Easy to acquire but bad to drink. Maybe you should pray for a rainstorm...

Wildlife.

**Columba livia. Common city pigeon. They are available in mass, flying in from the broken windows and holes in the roof. They are flighty, and messy, but not particularly smart.

**Loxosceles reclusa granda. Aggressive and unnervingly large brown spiders native to the area and love to lurk in dark corners. Their bites are incredibly poisonous and will begin to rot away the surrounding flesh if not treated promptly.

**Rattus norvegicus. The common rat. Edible if cooked. Known to be carriers of diseases. (Especially if they were put here to do just that...) These guys are EVERYWHERE and some of them get to sizes that might make you wonder if they are cross breeding with stay dogs. And if you explores the tunnels, beware the mythical rat king a massive bundles of rats whose tails have knotted together.

Foodstuffs.

Both the rats and pigeons are edible. In additions, some of the restaurants might have food tucked into the back, in various states of edible.

Dripping water can be found in many places. Drink at your own risk. Some is fine, some...not so much.

As always, we here at The Games would like to wish you a very happy Hunger Games!

May the odds be ever in your favor.

Threaded | Flat

It's a strange thing, going from hell to this, and Noodle still isn't quite sure what to think about it all. Maybe this is just another layer to it all, a hallucination that she'll find herself snapped out of, but for now it feels real. A really good hallucination is possible, more detailed than the others and lacking features she often finds in her normal ones but for now she treats it as real.

It's stiflingly warm, the air thick and it tastes old, as if it's never known a breeze to pass through. Still Noodle keeps moving, grip on her crowbar tight, the flashlight she'd managed to grab tucked in the waistband of her jeans. Neither of them she intends on relinquishing, not with what she had to go through to get them both and she can feel herself grimace at the reminder of the wet crack of someones skull breaking under her blow. She was lucky she was quick. Was lucky she had once been made for this sort of situation but that doesn't make it any more pleasant to be in.

She draws to a sudden stop at a scuffle up ahead, the clink of someone's boot hitting an old metal can and the can's roll making her more than aware that someone's up ahead. And so she holds still, preparing herself to strike a blow if she needs to as she stares into the distance, to the patch of space where the lights flicker on and off with no regularity and with a voice almost hoarse with disuse she takes a chance and calls out, acutely aware of her surroundings. "Hello?"

At least the clothes were normal. The hoodie wasn't hers, but so many things that she owned weren't hers at first either that she was very used to the way new garments settled over her form.

The situation, on the other hand, was completely alien. A death match? They wanted her to fight in a death match? For every bit of her brain that was saying 'why me' there were two bits saying 'of course.' Just another thing for her to survive, right? That's what she always had to do. Survive.

Drawing a deep breath when the signal sounded, she bolted right for the supplies, focusing in on her way to try and get something she could use. There were knives, but the crowbar would be more useful - and she definitely wanted whatever was in one of those backpacks. If she was lucky, maybe she could run by and scoop the items up without running into any trouble.

Generally, though, Zed wasn't a very lucky person.

It was abrupt, the entire situation. From awakening to the moment he was standing there and for those passing minutes, hours, days, however long it took, it felt like he only had time to take a breath and hold it, to close his eyes and open them and there he was, standing amidst the others, listening to their breathing and watching the numbers count down. It's all a shock to the system, the clothes he finds himself in are different, the surroundings are fascinating but eerie in their state, so unlike anything he had ever seen before. Even the numbers, not like his own language, are vague but he grasps the meaning, his mind in a state of wonder and awe and tension as he clenches his fists. The moment the sound rings out he moves as fast as his legs can carry him.

Ragnar Lothbrok is a warrior, mentally and physically, he knows an opportunity when he sees it and while he's not sure what it all means, not sure he likes the feeling of his feet upon this sort of terrain, he knows how to defend himself, even though the clothing upon his body feels weak, flimsy compared to what he is used to, and the choices that are at his hands the moment he reaches the Cornucopia are not something he would personally pick for battle. The knife looks ill crafted in the brief glance he gathers so he snatches up a crowbar instead, his other hand moving to snatch away a handful of rope and then he is off. This landscape is not his own, he has to find his way around it, get used to it and quickly.

He must adapt. He must keep a level head.

His feet are quick as he leaves the main concourse, the soles of his shoes collecting the dust on the floor. As tempting as it is to explore for other reasons, to see this completely different world, he knows what he must do and if he is going to die, he is going to die well to permit him access to Valhalla. No though, Ragnar does not want to perish, there is much to learn, much to explore, much to do, try to find his companions, his family again. Failure is not an option and for someone of his time and background, he knows how to handle a fight; though these different circumstances, the lack of familiar weaponry, makes him on edge.

His feet hit the waters, he settles his breath and his mind and Ragnar wanders. Keeping to the tracks to keep the noise of his movements to a minimum he sees it, just ahead in a sliver of light that flickers from the ceiling. Another figure. He grips his weapon tighter, steadying his stance and watching carefully from the shadows, stalking forward.

If Merida was one thing right now.

It was confused.

She was wearing strange clothes and in a strange place that she at least had the strong feeling had certainly seen better days, she had a bow tightly griped in her hands. It wasn't hers, both it, the arrows, and the quiver were strange to her but nothing she couldn't wield with smooth efficiency.

For the moment under her other arm is a small crate of apples. As she walks down a corridor she's anxious and has no idea what to expect, after all the only thing she was told before being forced here was to survive, so if she had to she was very much going to do just that.

Vultan had not only survived the killing field of the -- supply horn -- but he had done his ancestors proud, earning a blade for the risk he had taken. It wasn't as comfortable in his hand as his own claw would have been, but they had taken that from him, along with his mantle and crest, and he saw little other course.

And at least he could say he knew what the knife was. The rest.... He recognized that he was starting at a distinct disadvantage, but he was determined to even the playing field.

Stripping the constrictive clothing over his head, he lingered at the crumbling edges of the main floor, crouched in a shadow, eyes on the broken skylights. Watching, and waiting, one with the stone until the flutter of wings had him straightening.

Head lifting, he cooed. A soft bird call, his head cocking, gaze fixing on the pigeon that had landed above him.

[This is contrived. All of this. Old school. This is some fucked up shit pulled right from a B-grade movie. This is.. great. This is exactly what Deadpool looks for in a situation. It's by no means the weirdest thing that ever happened to him, because he's the weirdest thing that ever happened to him. He's yet to see anything top that. All he knows is there's a goal, a prize and about a hundred patsies standing between it and him. He has no doubt some of these people are seasoned warriors, but they have nothing on his 11 secret herbs and spices. He is the deluxe bucket of pain, winging it through this suspiciously empty Arena.

A sword was easy enough to acquire from the Cornucopia, he'd been lucky enough to arrive with his mask. Lucky? Is lucky the word? It's symbolic, they said, it'll mean more for the inevitable reveal. Right. He does recall somebody telling him his face was the best distraction, but that doesn't mean he isn't putting his stylists on his Jerk list for pummeling. That'll come later, when they crown him Next Top Model or whatever.

He's taking to the back passages and the lower depths of the course, seemingly unperturbed by the dark or..anything. Really. Given the fact that he's swinging his sword around, singing with no attempt to keep the volume low.]

Don't be shocked by the toooonnnne of my voice-ah. It's the new weapon, weapon of choice.

[And with that, he will mimic the movements of the popular dance whilst puncturing the air around him with his sword, scarred arms sweeping around in front of him.]

Ahh-- You can go with this,
Or you can go with that,
You can go with this,
Or you can go with that,
Or you can throw with us. Doot, doot, doot. Love that song. Man, I miss when they played music here.

Edited 2014-11-30 03:58 (UTC)

There was no air in here.

He needed to get away from this. There was enough help for District one, he didn't need to worry about abandoning anyone, even this early in the game. Still, as he pushed out of the room he felt the twist of gut in his stomach. These weren't careers, hard trained to survive this, these were innocents.

Maybe that was why he needed air so bad, just for a moment.

Pushing past an avox, he let out a quiet apology without thought to the fact the avox could not return it, before stepping out into the cool air of the courtyard. A few deep gulps of the cold air, and his shaking hand went fishing into his pockets for the ornate metal box his stylist left his cigarettes in. No crumpled paper package for a district one mentor.

Except his fingertips only curled around the lighter in his pocket, and nothing else. He let out a surprised sound of displeasure, as his two colored eyes jumped up to see if anyone near might have a smoke. The thought of trying to sooth his frayed nerves without one right now was not appealing.

Should she have expected this?

She had known, once the decision was made to leave the life of her weaker self behind, things would change. Madness would become a daily thing and the absurd, the unthinkable, her real life. Hadn't she seen London and her Wonderland merge to become Londerland, after she had rid herself of that beast of a doctor, that murderer of innocents? She thought herself ready for anything.

Not this. Where she could accept madness, laziness and an infuriating lack of knowledge of this place set Alice on edge. The planning of something so crude, so deserving of a street tavern conversation, angered Alice, and further still by the lack of clothing she was supplied. Really, she may as well be naked with what was left to the imagination. She could only imagine the perversions contained within this place.

There was little time to reflect on these things. She had access to little more than a hunting knife and found herself in an abandoned sort of place that seemed bound for transport once. Trains, though somewhat more advanced in its way. Its usefulness had expired long ago,it seemed. Ruins. That was familiar anyway.

Press on, then. She pulled crabbily at the thin material that was her garment and walked on, wondering what strange new things were in store.

Find a weapon. Hide a lot. Try to survive.

After a whole lot of panicking and some very quick thinking, that has become Hiro's strategy. He gets the picture easily enough; he's some kind of gladiator, here to fight for some political reason he doesn't care much about--which is a scenario that would have made for a pretty cool movie, admittedly, though it isn't so great in real life.

It doesn't feel very much like real life, though, wandering the dark building all alone, his friends nowhere to be found. He manages to get his hands on a long cord and a small knife, and busies himself building a few traps to surround his hiding place with. He uses the cord to make a trip wire, suspending a ball of sharpened wood and broken glass above. If someone trips the wire--well, they'll be sorry.

"And now we wait," he mutters to himself, hunching in a dark corner and trying to ignore the way his stomach is rumbling. He tugs his knees up to his chest, tries not to think about Aunt Cass's bakery, and fails.

Then it becomes an exercise in trying not to cry.

At last, his big break had come. As he breathed in the dank air of the abandoned building he knew this was where he belonged. Until now he thought he would have to choose between feeding his bloodthirst and nurturing his acting career - or at least work very hard to hide the former. Now he knew that he could have it all. Giving up on your dreams was for the poor and downtrodden, people like him always got what they wanted. He'd perform for his audience at the Capitol, they'd cheer him on as he hunted his victims, they'd love his charming smile and bloodstained face.

He knew he couldn't just lash out at everyone he saw. This was where his acting skills would come in. Lure them into a false sense of security and then strike; the wolf in sheep's clothing strategy. He was a brat, but he knew how to be charming when he needed to, and he could muster up tears if he had to look pitiful.

Yet, he had a hunting knife with him, and seemed oddly calm for someone who had participated in the rush to the cornucopia...

It all starts rather abruptly. One minute he's back home and in the next he's blinking awake in some strange place, getting himself sedated when he tries to fight his way out. The welcoming speech is a haze, fuzzy around the edges thanks to the drugs, but it's not the first time he's heard a monologue while drugged. This is, however, the first time he's found himself forcibly placed in some modern day gladiator battle. The world around them coalesces into some broken down building, dark and slowly crumbling around them. It's -- well, it's actually not as bad as he expected.

There's the steady breathing of people around him, and the glowing count down offers a rallying point. It seems to take hours for the clock to hit 1, but at the sound of the bell Clint's racing forward, faster than most of his fellow Tributes. He doesn't stop to think, snatches crowbar from the floor and a canteen of water as he goes skittering past, sweeping out to push a would be attack away. There's no higher thought than: get away, find shelter, bunker down. The tracker in his arm means there's no place to really hide from the game maker's eyes, and he knows there's got to be cameras everywhere in this place. Maybe he could have snagged a knife and cut out his tracker, but a building like this? Self contained. The only way out is to play by their rules, and those rules aren't exactly ones he likes.

So Clint stalks down a darkly lit hallway, crowbar in hand, ears and eyes straining for any hint of danger. And then, of course, the lights go out all together, leaving him in the pitch black of room with footsteps echoing like homing beacons. Just, peachy.

[ This isn't what he imagined human transmutation would be like.

He knows, of course, that it's forbidden. Knows that the costs outweigh the risks in every manner. Has seen what it gets people who try it– a lost arm, a lost leg, a lost body. While he may play a fool, he's certainly not one behind the mask. There was a reason he'd survived Ishvala, why he's still got his mind and body intact and not smeared on some rubble and sand in a far off country. So, when he'd gotten threatened to perform the forbidden, to go against the laws of alchemy, he'd refused. They weren't going to bait him into it, as much as it was painful to watch the consequences.

As much as it hurt, hurt so much to watch Riza bleed out on the flagstone. To see her blood staining the ground– there was just so much red. Roy had seen the look in her eyes though. They said don't you dare. Riza has never led him astray, and he wasn't about to go against that, not when it counted as her dying wish. But, she's not completely dying, is she? Not when Mei has healed her a little, brought her back from the brink of death.

Except it doesn't really matter, because the last thing he remembers is the piercing pain of swords running through the seals on his hands (his gloves) and the eerie white-blue light of alchemy being performed.

And now he's here, in a place called the Capitol. He's been told one thing: survive. Kill before he's killed. They've provided him a uniform of sorts, but he gets nothing else from them. Moreover, they've taken his alchemy (that's ok, he thinks, his fire runs deeper than the manifestation of flames that happens at the snap of his fingers). If he wants something, he'll have to fight for it. For entertainment of others. It's a sick game, he thinks, but hasn't he played sick games before? If this is what they want, this is what they'll get. As the timer ticks down, he breathes slowly, and just as the buzzer hits 00:00, he takes off running towards the Cornucopia.

Go ahead, try and stop him. ]

Threaded | Flat

no subject

Zed Martin | Constantine | Tribute | Cornucopia (OTA)

Ragnar Lothbrok | VIKINGS | TRIBUTE (OTA)

no subject

no subject

Deadpool | various Marvel shit | Tribute

THE CAPITOL

Alice Liddell || American Mcgee's Alice/Alice: Madness Returns| Tribute

Hiro Hamada | Big Hero 6 | tribute

Dandy Mott | American Horror Story | Tribute | OTA

Clint Barton | MCU | OTA

roy mustang | fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood | tribute– cornucopia (OTA)