#arena launch

[moxiepitlocks]

The launch always made Moxie sick to her stomach; the guilt she felt in nearly condoning the murder of people so young, people who didn’t have the opportunity to truly live their lives yet. Cut short, the string severed in the Bloodbath for some, and for one lucky soul – if Moxie could even call it lucky – they’d win. The concept of being a victor shook her to her core and she couldn’t even begin to reconcile with wanting one person to win more over another – would it be Honey? Could she deal with losing Honey if she didn’t win? What about Kit? Could she let him die just because he wasn’t almost family to her? No. No Moxie had made a promise to Slate that she’d do everything within her power to keep him alive. He was her tribute. 

Walking into the club, she attempted to shake off the invasive thoughts as she sat herself down at the bar. Moxie flagged down a bartender, her voice softly requesting for her drink to be a double. She needed something stronger if she was going to make it through the day. Her head fell into her hand as she leant against the bar, absentmindedly circling the rim of her glass with her free fingers.

@leanderwinter​

[moxiepitlocks]

“Are they doing okay?” Moxie asked, rushing back into the living room, two glasses of water in hand. She carefully placed one in front of Hestia as she sat down. The arena had launched and the Bloodbath was ongoing, Moxie had never been able to truly bring herself to view the Bloodbath – it was too grim for her sensibilities and she couldn’t justify watching it so she had excused herself, claiming she’d be right back, get them a drink. “I didn’t miss anything important?” She asked turning her attention toward Hestia rather than the screen.

@hestiaember​

[maytheoddshq]

The 132nd Biannual Hunger Games: The Launch

As they rise from the tubes, all tributes are greeted by the scent of musky smoke and fresh cut grass. The sounds of the great outdoors surround them – chirping birds, a rustling breeze, the crackle of the fire. It is just past noon; a large campfire roars in front of them with a central construction of logs in the shape of the iconic cornucopia, surrounded by backpacks, sleeping bags, food, and a myriad of other equipment suited for braving the elements-- alongside a plethora of weaponry. Beside the fire is a tall flagpole, bearing a handmade gray flag with CAMP NIGHTLOCK stitched across the middle in white letters.

Around them sprawls a classic summer camp, filled with activity cabins, communal spaces, and sleeping cabins numbered one through twelve. Surrounding Camp Nightlock, there is a dense forest and the shores of a green lake to the East. There's an eerie sense of abandonment to the camp, as though everyone has disappeared overnight and left it to the tributes. The countdown reaches zero. Enjoy your summer at Camp Nightlock!

[aspensawyer]

timor et odium – aspen, self-para – task 014

Regret was seeping into every last nerve ending of Aspen’s body; there was a part of her that wished that she had just run off, even without Holland. She wanted to live, she wanted to live so badly and the moment the arena around her was revealed her breath began to catch in her throat. Aspen swiveled her head from side to side, trying to take in as much information as physically possible, trying to understand what the hell it was she was seeing in front of her. She sought out the building that was facing the opening of the cornucopia, tracing the line from the opening over toward the senate-house. That’s where they were going to meet, they promised each other. Everyone wanted to live, so the alliance was important. They’d be there.

An urgent glance was shot over to Holland, Nico, and then Kit. Only one of them would win – in what universe was that fair? In what universe did she want the people she cared for to die? Even the person she loved? Why did the thrum of her heart and the rapid rise and fall of her chest make her vision go spotty? She was going to pass out, she thought, trying to steady herself, trying to not step off of her platform before the countdown ended.

A deep inhale.

Exhale.

The timer ended and she angled herself toward the senate house and ran, pumping her legs as fast as she physically could. The urge, the instinct she had to run was finally being released. She wanted to run when she was home, to get away from the games, to run into her mother’s grasping arms. She wanted to run when it was just her and Holland – preserve both of them, not being willing to sacrifice a love that she had just been able to sink her fingers into. So, she ran, she ran for all of it, she ran for herself, and for her family, she ran for Holland. One of them would live and she’d deal with that when they got to it, it was a reality she was unable to fully face at the moment; not yet, not when she could barely consider the odds of her own survival.