Kelvin was nervous for many reasons. First of all, his tributes were beginning to wake up in the arena, seemingly with no idea who or where they were. Missy found her way to Cricket regardless, which was something that Kelvin was happy to see. It was astounding to him how people could find their way back to each other, even when the world seemed to want to keep them apart. Not paying attention to his surroundings, he bumped into the person next to him after leaning too far to one side, causing the velvet box in suit jacket pocket to roll around. That was the second reason he was nervous, the ring waiting inside. “Sorry about that, this is all kind of insane, right? I’ve never seen something like this before.”
For as long as she could remember (which in this moment was not a long time), her biggest fear had been drowning. There was no recollection of the overcoming of that fear, no recollection of all the other, far scarier things there were in the world to be afraid of. All she knew was that the thought of drowning terrified her, and there seemed to be no escape from the never-ending stream of it.
As the water levels rose, she attempted to seek higher ground, tried to find some place to hide to wait out the incoming storm, but there seemed to be no way to avoid it, and she only got farther and farther from the terrain that she had been pacing for the last hour or so.
The water was up to her chin in no time, and she prepared herself for drowning, prepared herself to die with no recollection of more than half of her existence. However, muscle memory took over from there, and instead of drowning, she floated to the surface.
She had no idea where or when she had learned to do this, and the very fact that she was lying on top of the water as more was added underneath her scared her more than the water itself, but she waited it out, readjusting herself every now and then like she had been doing it for her entire life.
By the time the water began to drain, Kahente had lost track of time, had no idea how long it had been since she woke up that morning, but a memory suddenly came crashing back into her brain. Why her father wasn’t with her, why her father might have been dead at home while she was...wherever she was.
Cancer.
It was at this moment, her head in her hands trying to massage out the pain she felt from the new memory in her brain, her hair dripping water all over her freezing body, that she ran across another person for the first time since her last kill.
“P-p-please,” she managed to squeak out, involuntarily shivering, appearing the weakest she had ever been. “D-d-don’t kill me, I have to get home to my f-f-f-father.” // starter for @huntedhunter
the si base unit of thermodynamic temperature, equal in magnitude to the degree celsius
from the narrow river
ravenclaw;
ravenclaw house prizes learning, wisdom, wit, and intellect in its members. thus, many ravenclaws tend to be academically motivated and talented students. they also pride themselves in being original in their ideas, and methods.
often hard-working and diligent, as often is the case with intellectuals with a predisposition for academics, some of the pupils sorted under the blue-bronzed eagle are known to be inclined to dismiss certain social expectation for the sake of satisfying their own intellectual curiosity. some of these eventually also ended up being not only accepted, but even celebrated, in spite of being initially subjected to scorn for their various oddities.
intp (the logician);
the intp personality type is fairly rare, making up only three percent of the population, which is definitely a good thing for them, as there’s nothing they’d be more unhappy about than being "common". intps pride themselves on their inventiveness and creativity, their unique perspective and vigorous intellect. usually known as the philosopher, the architect, or the dreamy professor, intps have been responsible for many scientific discoveries throughout history.
melancholic;
melancholic people are emotionally sensitive, perfectionistic introverts.
the defining feature of a melancholic attitude is perfectionism. they are idealists who wish for things to be a certain way, and they get distressed when they are not. they hold themselves and others to unrealistically high standards, and get distressed when these standards are not met. this leads to them being self-deprecating - because they do not meet their own standards - and critical of others - because those others do not meet their standards.
neutral good;
a neutral good character will usually comply with laws if doing so benefits the greater good, but rebel against those they consider unjust or which conflict with the greater good.
passively good — they have fairly normal lives and ambitions, but will do good as the situation arises. they will help anyone they come across who needs it, then get back to their normal routine. they are most likely to be good towards family, friends, and those within their social circle , though they have no issue with helping strangers. they may even do volunteer work or other do-gooding that they find personally satisfying. at the same time, they do not view good as the concept that defines their lives — for them, goodness is an obligation, or even just their nature. they will do what good they like or what needs to be done, and then they will go home and carry on as normal.
dislikes: know-it-alls, being criticized, the past coming back to haunt, cruelty of any kind
type nine (the peacemaker);
nines are accepting, trusting, and stable. they are usually creative, optimistic, and supportive, but can also be too willing to go along with others to keep the peace. they want everything to go smoothly and be without conflict, but they can also tend to be complacent, simplifying problems and minimizing anything upsetting. they typically have problems with inertia and stubbornness.
at their best: indomitable and all-embracing, they are able to bring people together and heal conflicts.
basic fear: of loss and separation
basic desire: to have inner stability "peace of mind"
greengrass;
this very interesting, unusual, and early surname is of english topographical origins and would have denoted one who lived at a hamlet so named. The derivation is from the old english pre 7th century words 'grene' meaning 'green' and 'groes' grass, but this may not have been the literal meaning. the probable meaning is an area recently cultivated with 'new' grassland, or as it originates in county suffolk, may even refer to an area which was drained or in one way or another recovered from the sea or fen.
❝ education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world. ❞ - nelson mandela → kelvin greengrass, task 005: hakuna matata (that’s our motto)
Despite her best attempt not to, Kahente fell asleep. It was stupid, it was dumb, she knew it, but if now wasn’t going to be the time to get at least a little bit of rest, she didn’t know when the time would be.
The feeling of the ground shaking underneath her was what woke her, and she woke with a start, her heart skipping a beat. Was she dreaming? Or was the ground really moving from underneath her?
She stood up, bow at the ready, unclear of what was next.
And then, in the distance, she saw them.
People? Was that what they were? She didn’t know, but she didn’t have the time to figure it out. Quickly, and without thinking it over too much, she collected her things and started booking it as fast as she possibly could in the opposite direction.
Was this happening to everyone? Was everyone being attacked and chased in this manner? She didn’t know, and she didn’t know if she wanted to find out the answer, so she kept running, grateful that she had slept when she did, grateful, grateful, grateful.
Boom.
The first cannon sound made her realize that she was not alone in this. Other people were fighting, whether or not they were fighting these same things that she was.
She took the moment to turn around, watching them burn everything in their path. The tree she had slept against, the place she had dropped down from the cloud. It was all burning in front of her.
It seemed metaphorical.
She remembered the conversation she had with Hunter the day she met him, about the viscose factory, about how angry he was, about how stupid he was to burn things to the ground. She didn’t understand what he meant at the time.
But now, being chased by computer generated humans, her lungs felt like they were what was being set on fire, and she understood how a person could be that angry.
Another cannon.
She was angry that this was what she was spending her time in the arena doing, she was angry that the chance of getting to go home seemed to simultaneously grow and shrink with each moment she was alive and other people perished, she was angry that she was still cold, she was angry that these fucking creatures refused to stop walking towards her.
Her bow and arrow would have to finally get some use, and she shot an arrow at the one in the front, hitting in the shoulder. They all paused for a moment, staring at the site of the impact, before running once more. Nothing would stop them, nothing would cause them to slow down, and the brief moment of catching her breath was not enough. She backed up away from them, trying to use the small break she could to her advantage.
She was ready to run, she was ready to keep fighting.
A third cannon.
And then the earth opened up, and suddenly, the humanoid creatures were the least of her problems.
Right now, you are watching your life through a television screen.
This cannot be real, the voice in your head, the terrible act you feel inclined to commit, yet somehow, your body keeps walking forward. You are not in control anymore, and this terrifies you more than you can say, but there is nothing you can do to stop the motion.
It is as if you are floating in a bubble above yourself, looking down at your body, empty, soulless, awaiting command.
Animalsssss, that’s what they are, all the beingssssss in thisssss arena, all the humansssss. They’re all animalssssss.
You see your head nod up and down, robotic, stoic, in complacent agreement with the voice.
Show them what you do to animalsssssssss. Eat them alive.
Another head nod and you’re off, turning towards other creatures, attacking like you’re feral.
You are not in control anymore, and while your body is doing unspeakable things, your mom and your dad are in the back of your head. What are they thinking watching this, watching you, blood dripping down your face, staining the t-shirt Satine gave to you?
You are a killer now, nothing else.
There is no time for gamessssssssss.
And by this point, you’re not even aware of the difference between the voice in your head, and your own thoughts.
By the time you’re back in your body, your skin is stained red. There is a foul taste in your mouth, you feel like vomiting.
And you do, all over yourself, and suddenly, you’re thinking it was better when you weren’t in control.
