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The Games ended long ago, and are now just a memory. A terrible subject learnt during History, something unthinkable. A...a touchy subject to say the least. You could call it a peace time - but does such thing exist? Peacetime suggests no war, no crime. It's true, there's much less than then, in the Everdeen Era, but there are still disgusting criminals out there. Descendants of the Bread and Circus regime, left alone because they did not murder or steal, they just helped the killers and the thieves.
How strange I chose her to help. She isn't a saint, and her reasons are about as far from mine as possible. But I no longer care. We are here to play a game, we are here to bring justice. We are here to tell the tales of these Games.
I hope the odds are in your favour, dear.
PART ONE OF THE GAME OF TALES
The Looking Glass Games
- Mild cussing only!
- Reservations last for a day. There are a very limited amount of spots!
- PG-13 for all wikia contributors that want to know. Mild swears and no sexual content, but gore a plenty. These games will be quite scary.
- No spam, and if you want to be allowed to advertise, contact me on my talkpage first.
- Please, if you I've told you any plot points, please don't spill anything.
- No arguing please.
- People die in the hunger games, deal with it.
- Add advice every so often, or at least the occasional 'Go team!'
- I will inform you via Talk if your tribute has died, survived the bloodbath, or made it to the final twelve, eight or four!
- You will be given priority in my next games, so please do join even if you don't like the plot of this one! This is exstensive and a big project of mine.
All these are needed, but again, personalities are better the shorter they are, and backstories are only 150 words long if you never do 'em. C'mon!
|Nitro Shifter||17||Male||1||Axe, Swords||6'0||Ryan|
|Mercury Shifter||17||Female||1||Whips, Lassos||5'9||Ryan|
|Reya Isolfa||17||Female||2||Sai Daggers, Throwing Axes||5'10||Kaeghan|
|Solar Panels||12||Male||3||Metal Gloves, Bombs||5'0||John|
|Volta Sparks||15||Female||3||Wire trap, Land mines||5'3||John|
|Delta Bourne||16||Male||4||Trident, Nets||6'1||Kekai|
|Mew Windlass||12||Female||4||Knives, Nets||4'7||Kekai|
|Griffen Roxen||16||Male||5||Throwing Knives||6'4||Oli|
|Xerathe Descendant||13||Female||5||Bow and Arrows||5'1||Erlend|
|Kodai Hitogorishi||17||Male||7||Teeth, Strangling||5'9||Mist|
|Sorcera Spectrus||17||Female||7||Daggers, Poison||5'8||Mist|
|Saguna Isola||15||Female||9||Pickaxes, Blowguns||5'6||Mia|
|Archie Rye||15||Male||11||Throwing Knives, Crossbows, Knives||5'5||Den|
|Carbo Ferrum||17||Male||12||Katanas, Swords||6'7||Wesley|
|Alyss Lidal||13||Female||13||Bow and Arrow, Spears||4'7||The Gamemakers|
MAIN CHARACTERS (Non tributes)
|Noiri Blanche||12||Alyss Lidal||Arrow to the head.||1 - Bloodbath||26th|
|Shae Summerfield||8||Reya Isolfa||Beheaded.||1 - Bloodbath||25th|
|September Rollo||10||Reya Isolfa||Axe to the back of the head.||1- Bloodbath||24th|
|Morro Katler||13||Sajay Opaclipta||Sword to the gut, along with blood loss from slashed wrist||1- Bloodbath||23rd|
|Silver 'Clockwork' Clockson||8||Archie Rye||Knife through the chest.||1- Bloodbath||22nd|
|Foxlip Leafcoin||9||Troi Cian||Gutted with a spear.||1- Bloodbath||21st|
|Xerathe Descendant||5||Mimic Slaughter||Sword through the throat.||1- Bloodbath||20th|
PART ONE: Through the Looking Glass
'Curiouser and curiouser!' Alice exclaimed.
Nitro Shifter, D1
My eyes open droopily - I had been sleeping in my quarters. We were visiting the Hunger Games museum, full of rememnants of the past. It was interesting, though I found the parts with bloodspattered tokens and weapons of famous tributes quite disturbing. I had always liked watching the games, in a sickly facisnated way. I knew they were wrong, I'm not a creep! Just interested, like you'd be in the Greeks or the Romans...A few years ago me and a few friends had been in a club, training for the games. It had upset Mom loads, so I stopped after a few months. But I had still learnt some stuff, and Geo's brother was loads of help. He worked at the butchers, so he knew his way around a knife. When he let me use the larger ones, I pretended it was a sword. Sometimes I got paid to cut trees down if I was in the forest at the right time. I got paid and me and my friends would mess around. Mercury hated the games, and had always been terrified of the idea.
The club unnerved her, as if I'd screamed in her face to go and kill some other kids. I didn't care, if I'm honest, the idea of them had always sounded pretty cool to me. Like the world war, sitting in the Anderson Shelters. It would be like a sleepover.
After looking at the bloody axe that Johanna Mason had used to detatch her victims' heads, I didn't think it was so cool anymore. I woke up earlier in a cold sweat, dreaming that somebody was chasing me. Cannons kept booming. I was being a sissy and I knew it; I swored I saw a dark figure passing my slightly open doorway...It was probably just hotel staff, but their hushed voice made it feel like my throat was closing up. The same hushed voice was speaking now.
"Oh sweety," whispered a voice. I felt dizzy, but not in the normal way. It didn't feel like I could stretch and take a shower and I'd be fine. The figure wobbled in and out of focus. "Go back to bed, you'll want a good night's sleep before this." I feel a sharp pain and cry out, trying to adjust to the dim light. It wasn't the crisp, clean room I was in when I finally got to sleep.
"Before what?" I slur, my speech just as blurry as my vision. "Where's Mercu...Mercury? My n-neck."The woman suddenly gets slightly clearer, with skin like coffee and a pair of glasses. She shushes me, the chugging of machinery trying to soothe me to sleep, so tempting in my current state.
"We're putting in your tracker," she smiles, her voice quiet. "And tattooing your serial number onto your back. We're making sure the tracker is impossible to get out, so don't you try anything like Miss Mason!" The woman chuckles.
"Trettla, get over here," says a husky voice. A man's, surely. "We've got a problem." The woman caresses my cheek. The room is getting dimmer, my head aching, the back of my eyes throbbing. Tracker? Where...what? How do I know that? Miss Mason? Tracker, I...
"3, 2," she walks away. Tracker. Mason. A bloody axe. The Hunger Games museum. The club unnerved her, as if I'd screamed in her face to go and kill some other kids. "1."
The world goes black.
Volta Sparks, D3
Earlier, I had fallen asleep to the quiet murmurings of my few friends. We had been visiting the Hunger Games Museum. It was quite interesting. But this didn't look like the spotless, white room I had nodded off in. The place was so bright it made my luminous yellow eyes sting, and the air felt fresher. Scared, I refused to open my eyes.
"What...?" a voice murmurs. My heart starts thumping, and it become hard to breathe. All manner of things rush through my head, which begins throbbing in it's attempts find a rational explanation for this. Eventually I gather the courage to make my eyes flutter open, and what I see does nothing but terrify me more. 24 or 25 children are sitting at a long, rich oak table. Fluorescent rucksacks and glittering metallic weapons lay before me. Most of the other children are only about conscious.
Relief fills me; they're all from other school groups touring the museum. This was probably some silly reenactment they do to make the newbies crap themself. DONG. It vibrates - the very ground beneath the table shakes, the ringing staying in my ears long after the gong has been hit. Similar to it, but not quite there. The weapons' blades were probably blunted, though it was realistic. The sky was a deep, azure blue, with fluffy ivory coloured clouds floating through it lazily. The sun shined a beautiful gold, glowing on the people across from me's faces. The grass was damp and dewy, a cool, paradise green. Everything seemed over-saturated, unreal. Small coral flowers bloomed upon the hilly field, a beige cottage with mismatched sizes in front of them, backed by a forest. Upon the house's roof was a huge, mud coloured hat, tied with a violet ribbon.
"Good morning, tributes," boomed a voice from the sky. "Oh, don't be cynical my dearest District 3's. The blades certainly are sharpened...want to feel them? You have been selected for something that will go down in history! Finally, three people have had the wits and knowledge about them to do a good to this shrivelled, wilted world. We are to be reinstating the Hunger Games. Good morning to the people of Panem, especially you Mr. President! How are you today, Alezaander? Don't bribe us, please, we aren't stopping these, and we're not letting go of airtime. We would like you to make your people watch this...or we will make you make them. We must teach 'your' people a lesson. And you, of course. Let's not forget you. Tributes, you know the rules. The last one standing. Though in normal circumstances it's the one who lasts the horrible infection the longest." The silence seeps through the table, all confused mutters having been shut up. A skinny, short girl stands up, waving a fist to the air.
"You can't do this! The authorities will hear about this!" The boy next to her grabs her by the shoulder hastily, telling her to be quiet. The looked very alike - most likely related. Siblings? Cousins? I dare to put my finger forward and push it to the spike of a spear. Blood drips from my pinky.
The silence gets uncomfortable, like everybody is deciding what to do, turning their gaze from the scarlet liquid I'm wiping on my khaki coloured vest. Standing up, a girl grabs a bag. Her hair is a dirty fair colour, with white blonde hair at the front. She's sat at the head of the table, her back to the cottage. She gulps. "Allies?" she asks, breathily. For a second, I think perhaps it's symbolic, like saying we were all allies and weren't to murder each other. She doesn't really look the smartest, like the person to say this, a decision maker.
Then I realise she has made a decision for us all.
The boy at the end, with hair almost identical, nods hesitantly. He grabs a sword from the table. "I'm Sajay." At that we all realised what the bag the girl (who I find out later to be called Reya) picked up was full of: throwing axes.
"Let the First Annual Game of Tales begin!" the announcer screams, amused and enthralled that these two have both picked up weapons. "We hope the odds aren't in your favour!"
Sorcera Spectrus, D7
I would've liked to said I had cackled, grabbed a fist full of daggers and thanked Hecate herself. If I'm honest though, I was halfway between crying and screaming bloody murder to the sky at the bitch that put us in here. All the other kids were in green and brown stuff, though a couple of unlucky ones got bright white or orange and blue or something messed up like that.
I breathed out - it wasn't messed up, it simply means the odds aren't in your favour. But they are in your's, you got a tight green tank top. Just right, to flaunt your assets. I wondered if there was sponsoring in these games...probably not. Though maybe it was a good thing still. It was easy to trick these foolish boys into thinking I loved them.
Thwip. She had been next to me - had is used for the past tense though. It was there, lodged into her head. The girl had long choppy hair, black with snow coloured highlights. I turn my head, expecting the killer to be the ditz who picked up the axes. But no, it was another girl. Her hair was golden and wavy, clipped back and flowing down her back. She adorned a dress that looked like it from eight decades ago, her skin like porcelain, gripping a huge golden bow in her hand. Eyes as red and wavering as a fire. She didn't look quite sane. I stand and gather as much as I can, dodging the flailing bodies that sprint as fast as they can from the table. Only three get away immediately - the boy who looked like he was from One slashed the wrists of a boy dressed in a sea green sweater. He drops to the ground, squawking and grimacing in pain. He writhes his neck spastically for a second, but gets up and slowly stumbles toward the forest.
Reya, as Jay or whatever the guy's name was called her, lodges an axe into a fair haired girl's head. I shuffle from the table, making a strange choking nose. Reya slices a girl in a mustard coloured T-shirt's head straight off, a fleshy liquid spurting stub left in it's place. I refuse to look at her head, which is rolling around our feet. I've seen dead people before, but never A boy turns and wails in horror, ignoring the mutilated body of the young girl just a few foot from his feet.
"September! No!" he attempts to scratch Reya's face, but she slaps him straight in the face, pushing him back. He's lost in the flurry of bodies, pushing and shoving each other. I turn and run over the hills. "Griffen...Griff..." The fair haired girl drops, her body disgustingly pale on the scraggly green grass. I feel somebody grip my shoulder, and I yell in my deep, sensuous voice. I won't end up getting beheaded like that poor girl.
I turn and make the choking noise again, realising who it is. He stands there, eyes full of sorrow. I have him pinned up against a tree, a knife I have picked up stuck to his throat.
"Kodai," I yelp. He's been injured, a small mark on his neck bruising, a bloody cut staining his light hair, and it's as red as a rose. "I, what's happening?" He has no weapons, but a turquoise rucksack slung on his shoulder. I know he doesn't need any weapons though; his teeth are good enough, so sharp now they stick slightly out of his mouth. Kodai's a good few inches shorter than me, and I have to look down to stare into his eyes.
"C'mon." Kodai grunts. I'm probably not his ideal partner... but he's never seen me practicing. Kodai thinks I'm some loved up school girl. No, I'm a witch. Part of the coven, and I'll show him I'm worth his time. Blood spatters my arm, the boy who was stumbling into the forest now lying dead on the floor, we head into the forest together.
I would like to say I cackled, and turned around, smiling at the bloodstained grass. The witches foretold the killing would start again! I would think.
I'm too scared to look back.
Troi Cian, D10
I grip the spear tighter, gutting the guy who had told me his name was Foxlip. Who the hell names there kids that? I stare down at my hands, stained red and raw from the chaffing of the spear. The kid from what looked like 11 had slaughtered the creepy guy with a clock in his eye. He had laughed wildly when it was announced. Now I didn't exactly break down crying, but I showed some regret. I do feel regret.
I have gotten people tortured, both mentally and physically, but this isn't right. Shouldn't I have shown more restraint? Or have we humans adapted so much from those 75 years of killing that our remorse has leaked away...? Whatever. I pull the spear out of Foxy's stomach. A girl with raven black hair and glowing red eyes spears a long sword through a screeching girl's neck. Another boy, a bit taller, but almost identical to her, chucks a sleek sliver dagger at a boy with snowy blue and white hair about 40 metres away.
It misses by a centimetre.I decide not to go and make nice with those two.
Swoosh. I grunt, running away, two backpacks in my sweaty, bloody hands. Panting, I look back behind my shoulder, seeing that most people had fled. The girl with golden hair and glowing red eyes stands, her muddy blue dress torn. The brother and sister stay - but what's strange is that the girl who just leaped off the table's blood isn't red. It's black...
I disappear down the hill.
Mimic Slaughter, D6
The ground beneath us quakes, and I spit on the body in front of me. The creepy girl ran away, and Zak curses under his breath. He took a chunk out of her back, but she was too fast and dodged, punching Zak in the face. His shadowy red eyes pulsed with anger, blotchy red and purple marks jagged under his eyelids. The air was fresh and chilling, the wind whistling quietly. It was a strange field, so emaculate and green, stylishly messy. The sky was too blue, the clouds too fluffy and white.
"Do you even believe this? At all?" Zak screeches, kicking the table with a dull thud. "They can't do this to us!" I know though that's he's only irritated by the girl. He's been a games enthusiast since a young age. This is a blessing...right?
I can't say I feel any different as a murderer.
"Oh My!" says another voice, light but considerably male, I turn to face Zak and the man. He's tall, with bright ginger hair and green lipstick on. I frown, realising that it isn't lipstick. I shuffle back on my feet, falling down onto the field and dirtying my combat trousers. The man is muscular and topless, his trousers a horribly fluorescent turquoise. His shoes are curly and bright orange, like those shoes. Clogs, right? Around his head is a striped blue and gold bandana, but it and his face is bathed in lime coloured light. That which comes from his eyes. "I haven't seen anyone in Wonderland for a long time!"
Wonderland. Too perfect lands. A cottage with a hat on it and some crazy mutt with glowing eyes. Was that there theme this year? A little cheap, isn't it?
"Hi," Zak gulps, frowning.