Tina Veress's Story

Man in nothing but pink and black came out on stage, his hair was spiked, but the end was in a ponytail. He came out dancing to the fireworks as the music played loudly echoing through the stadium. The cround loud and wild whistling and cheering. His smile was cheerful, you could see some people in the stadium dancing at their seats. Finally when the music stopped you could here him laughing into the mic.

"HELLO ALL AND WELCOME TO THE ZODIAC GAMES!!!!" He waved wildly with a huge smile. "Hopefully all of you know me as FUCHSIA PINKO. We also made up something special for you all! This zodiac game is going to be a bit different from the last three. And as of most of you may know we have the Zodiac Games happen every five years. And this being the fourth time, I cooked up a little surprise for all of you!" He danced off the stadium grounds and into some doors. The stadium ceiling lifted up and open, the walls started to move and dropped down into the water. Leaving the stadium wide open. You could see people coming down onto the ground as part of the grounded opened up, bringing up a weird transformed machine.




"Woooo talk about crazy!" He came back out after the show was over and put back away, and after all the people went back to their seats.Norbert Etienne this time came out with him. Standing tall next to him with a smile, watching the people. "Awesome show right! Hope you enjoyed it! Now time to show our Team leaders and contestants for the evening before they take off on a boat to the Zodiac Water Dome!" He clapped as the contestants came out.

(Contestants please make your way onto the Stadium grounds and introduce yourselves!)

He couldn't believe this was happening.

After years of watching the event on his own television screen at home, watching people fight and kill....he was finally here with all the other contestants and leaders. Even though most lost, and only one person came out victorious, he could already imagine how winning would feel, because he knew that he would be the one that would be okay. He would be the winner. At the time however, almost nothing seemed real. It was like he was watching this all happen from his TV screen, not really taking part. It was like he was in a lucid dream. Kai had to pinch himself to remind his mind that it was all real, and it was all happening right now.

The palms of his hands were sweaty, mostly from anxiousness and excitement. Thoughts ran through his mind, all about different things. Did he look presentable? Was his mother in the crowd? From the spot that most of the contestants were awkwardly placed, he could only see a portion of the audience. The combination of music and fireworks was loud and distracting, and he only searched for a familiar face for a few seconds before he was distracted by the flashing lights in the sky, crumbling and disappearing into the navy sky before more were sent up into the darkness once again. Kai watched eagerly, clutching his hands together, the dancing lights reflecting in his light brown eyes.

Usually, he would have been talking with someone, anyone he could, however he was much too distracted by the fireworks, and most of all, didn't want to miss the chance to run up into the Stadium Grounds first. Or at least, right behind the team leader. He wasn't quite sure if he was permitted to run out first.

Kai adjusted his clothing constantly, pulling at the collar of his pale purple button-up shirt, running his hands over the sleeves of his black jacket to smooth out the wrinkles. He ran a hand through his light blond hair quickly, a nervous habit of his, watching ahead eagerly for the right words.

Pinko got up onto the stage again after the show was done. The audience calmed down, taking their seats again and staring ahead at the man in the center of the Stadium. Kai watched every move the brightly dressed man made, waiting for the words to escape his lips, ready to move out...

He heard the word contestants, and instantly leapt forward, his eyes moving across the people in the crowd. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw his mother sitting in a seat, watching disapprovingly. Why was she here? She would never cheer for him in a situation like this. She thought this sort of even was horrible, not in the least entertaining. Kai paused mid-step, lips parted slightly open in shock. He blinked, and the familiar face was gone.

And so was the group of contestants and leaders, far ahead. Kai rushed forward to keep up with the pack, trying to clear his mind. He was imagining things...he'd have to calm down and focus before the games started. Hallucinations were definitely not a good way to start off a game such as this. He followed the group to the center of the Stadium, keeping up with mostly his team members, though he did shove around a bit, trying to get ahead of the majority of them. As soon as they all entered, the audience erupted into applause and shouting. Of course, they were excited to see the people come up. The people who would be injured, wounded, fight, cry, scream, and die.

Kai raised his arms, waving enthusiastically at the audience, loving the attention. Even though they were all focused on different people, shouting for different teams, he felts as if all eyes were on him. He glanced over to Fuchsia, cracking a weak smile in excitement and continued to wave at everyone, looking very much like an excited child. One thought went through his mind however. He glanced briefly at his bare hands, wondering when they would receive the rings that were given to all contestants.

When the loud, thundering fireworks erupted in the sky, painting it in explosions of vibrant colors, the noise was almost completely muffled by the roar of the crowd, whistling and cheering like one would at a sports game many years ago. Then again, Etienne supposed as he watched the games' host dance out onto the stage, soaking up the applause and adoration like a sponge, maybe that was the best comparison for what this was now, an American football game or maybe even the Olympics. Their contestants used teamwork, precision, finely honed skills all for the the grand prize. The only differences, really, was that instead of tossing balls about a field they were stabbing at each other and instead of walking off with second or third place, the losers of the Zodiac Game died. Well, okay, maybe those were pretty big differences.

Etienne was ripped out of his revery, something he'd been falling into more often then not these days, as the audience quieted down slightly and Fuchsia Pinko's voice echoed throughout the giant stadium, carrying through the vast crowds and backstage where Etienne was along with people rushing about to make sure that everything would carry on as needed, one stage hand fussing over his own blonde hair, as well as this game's contestants in various states of emotional being. Most, he noted with a cursory glance, didn't seem all that nervous which was sadly unsurprising. Most of them, according to the profile folders that had been on his desk some time ago, were hardly the innocents from the first time around. These young adults were prepared to give the audience the blood bath that they so demanded.

His lips twitched downwards and his stomach lurched for just a moment before he managed to distract himself by glancing up as Fuchsia returned practically vibrating with excitement. Etienne could hear the oos and aahs of the crowd as the dome was unveiled, another one of Fuchsia's clever twists to keep the games interesting year after year. Well, with the combination of a new setting for the games and from what he'd gathered about the contestants, at least his job wouldn't be boring this time around.

He was given no more time for his inner dialogue as Fuchsia made his way over to him, gesturing with a beaming grin that Etienne met with only a half second's hesitation.

"You're on, Monsieur Nobert," The stage hand said as Fuchsia beckoned him to follow. Etienne spared her a smile before following him out on stage. It was show time. The stadium lights were blinding, but Etienne kept moving, used to the routine by now, smiling at the audience who met their return with more adulation. He and Fuchsia stood in stark contrast when they stopped, Etienne dressed in a dark blue suit and white shirt, more visually subdued then his companion, green eyes gazing into the crowd as he gave a slight wave which was met with an ensuing cheer.

"Awesome show right! Hope you enjoyed it! Now time to show our Team leaders and contestants for the evening before they take off on a boat to the Zodiac Water Dome!"

Etienne tilted his head to watch the procession of contestants make their way out in a straight line. They were all dressed to the nines, showing off to the crowd to make a good first impression. A fine idea, really, even if Etienne couldn't help but imagine them doused in blood and dressed in tattered clothing. Oh, well. Let them have their fun now. It would be over shortly when reality set in and the game began.

Calais Lambda

Sucking in a breath, Calais had to stop himself from vomiting the moment he set foot under the lights. The sights were too harsh, the colors too bright; the noise, the constant cheering of the crowds and their neverending ripples of bodies and flesh were making him sick. Though he had already been suffering from a pounding migraine when he had arrived, it was getting worse now, pulsing through his head like a series of nails being hammered into his skull one by one. The feeling reminded him of a coffin— the one he was getting closer to with each step.

That, or they were the kind of thick, heavy nails men had used as picks to escape prison in the olden days. And he really hoped it was the latter. Calais controlled his breaths with the sort of obsessive attention to detail only a caged man could muster. One, two, three... he focused on his breathing, doing what little he could to draw his mind away from the fact that more than one member of the crowd was staring at him. Staring right at him. As he lined up onstage beside his soon-to-be allies and mortal enemies, all Calais could think about was his breathing.

He followed the blonde ahead of him with his hands in his pockets. He'd long since untucked his shirt, freeing the cheap white fabric from the dress pants altogether. While he'd forgone the tie, he still retained some air of formality with the gleaming shoes and the blazer at the behest of the young assistant who'd put his outfit together. Trudging up the steps, the edges of his pants caught where they were too long for his diminutive frame, but he recovered quickly enough to evade the camera's notice— something he intended to do as long as possible. Unlike many of the contestants, who'd dressed themselves up and awaited their departures with smiles on their faces and expensive clothing clinging to soon-to-be-dead bodies, Calais was anything but eager to be present at the Games. But it was his only way out, and he'd risk death if it meant never going back to that hellhole of a prison again.

Cresting the stairs hidden behind the stage's wings, Calais was assailed with more lights and sound than he'd ever imagined existed. With the cacophonous feelings, however, came some even more dreadful than the sickness. He could feel their eyes, carnivorous, on his body, tearing him apart. Drawn to him like flies to meat. He hated walking about in public, and this was about as public as it got. There their eyes were, roving, clawing, devouring him. He wanted to just curl up in himself and run away somewhere quiet and safe from wandering eyes, but, as he well knew, there was no escaping. Not now. A pretty face could never escape the captivated eyes for long.

Vaguely, Calais wondered how this was any better than the prison he was risking his neck to escape. For the meantime, he hardened his carapace, stowing his hands in his pockets and his emotions behind a callous glare. If only he wasn't so damn pretty, now.

---

Remy Coulter

Remy Coulter had been largely absent from the preliminary games, but even his complete lack of involvement over the course of the past few months had failed to leave him with enough unknowns to worry him. From his seat backstage, the long-legged man— spindly, well-dressed, and powdered like a teacake for the camera— watched the backs of the contestants filing onto the stage from a screen propped against a useless-looking mechanism to his left. He hadn't seen their faces, let alone their profiles, but he was already sizing them up.

There were two men and two women— a balanced number Remy thoroughly enjoyed yet somehow dreaded. While the statistics were more favorable than the three women and the lone man they'd relied on last year, he couldn't escape the nagging sense of vulnerability that seemed to hang over his four young charges. The tallest, a blonde, hardly worried him; his body looked sturdy enough. The taller girl, too, was hardly worrisome. It was the darker of the two, a pair comprising of a man and a woman, that first caught his eye. The two were diminutive figures not more than an inch or two apart in height. The boy was unruly and had something of a slouch— a trait that irked Remy to no end, as it reeked of dissent and rebellion. While certainly interesting, a rarity in Remy's dull life, it wasn't going to help them win, was it?

He really should have looked over the training profiles.

Remy was about to reach for his radio to request the files from his assistant when a stagehand scurried over to usher him onstage. Was it really time to present already? Remy straightened his tie and gave his best Broadway smile. The stagehand seemed to quiver a little in his boots. Not exactly the most inviting fellow, are you, Remy? he mused to himself, widening the flesh-eating grin at the stagehand just to spite the kid. He could get to know his charges on the ride over. For now, all he needed to do was stand around and not slip up while the cameras were rolling. After a months-long absence, the last thing he needed was to get on Pinko's bad side. Heaven knew he'd already annoyed the man enough over the course of his career.

---

Lyrica Breslin

A pout had made its way across Lyrica's lips as she leaned toward the blubbering mess of a stagehand.

"What do you mean, no socializing with the other leaders' charges? You know it's full well within our duties to interact with all the contestants regardless of Zodiac placement," she whined, one small hand coming to a rest on the boy's shoulder. Slowly, she drew a circle on his collarbone as if to drive in her point after pausing a moment for effect. "Please, don't worry about me. I just have a few questions to ask. That's all. I'll leave them alone before they're up the stairs. And besides," Lyrica dragged the finger up his neck and traced his jawline, her small shoulders stretching comically to reach him, "Who's to say you won't get anything out of helping me out?"

The boy tried to back away, but she only drew closer. After a second of nervous consideration and another attempt to flee, he nodded his agreement and was finally set free, face as red as as the hat Lyrica now clutched to her chest. Once his back was turned, she sighed, relieved suddenly that there were no more guards set to watch over the line of contestants that had formed at the side of the stage. They'd already started moving— such a shame that the guard had held her up. She supposed her little experiment would only be half-complete.

Lyrica drifted toward the line, clamping her hand down hard on the first girl she came into contact with: one Aerianna Dawnstar. A crosshair. A quick, "good luck," whispered, she was off clamping and whispering to the other contestants before any of them could spare a second glance at the small, blonde form slipping her hands onto their shoulders. It was a quiet gesture, a simple one, but not a meaningless one— in fact, the meaning was the sole purpose of the action. When Lyrica had patted herself one Calla, one Carter, one Blair, and one Ariel— missing, unfortunately, Calais, Kai, and Faye, the Balance members who'd already made their way onstage— she pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe off the smooth black powder on her hands, smiling to herself as she did.

If her little experiment succeeded, she'd have gotten the upper hand this year. Lyrica's heart was in her slender throat in anticipation. She did love winning.

Wiping the last of the nearly weightless tracking dust from her hands, she sat down, content, on her seat and calibrated the now-blipping dots on her laptop screen until the same red-faced stagehand came to tell her it was time for her to get onstage. She considered telling him off for interrupting her while she was working, but she decided to brush it off. Everyone was on edge today. What could she say? It was a big day.

Oh well. She supposed her cheating could wait until later. Hopefully, she'd record enough useful data before they all removed their clothes to go to the dome.

Blair rushed around her room, tidying things up. She pulled out nunchucks from her closet, purple ones to be exact. Her name was engraved in one of the handles. She also pulled out a purple sheath with a sword inside, which also had her name engraved on the handle. Blair opened her closet and pulled out a bow and many, many arrows. She didn't get a gun, because it would just make a loud noise and attract people. Blair pulled out many packages of paralysis powder that she received from her "sources". Blair sighed and walked towards her large teddy, giving it and gentle hug. It was the only thing left from her parents, other than photos. With that being settled, Blair opened her window, jumped out and started leaping from house to house, making her way to the arena.

Tina stared blankly at the lights and the peppy speaker, she has seen this before. Her brothers and father watched the Zodiac games before they left. The lights annoyed Tina and Pinko made her want to punch a dog in the face. Tina had a strong hatred for overly existed people or happiness, but she did have respect for Pinko for setting up a game of killing. One of Tina's favorite things.

Tina looked at all of the people, well more like the savages. Coming to see everyone kill each other, mindlessly drooling all over their T.V dinners. She hated all of them, she didn't need to get to know anyone in the game, they all were going to die anyway. Her hands started shaking and her stomach felt upset, but it couldn't be because she was scared! Tina doesn't get scared.... right?

Tina started walking with the others not looking around at the idiots in the stand, she noticed some of the contestants though. Most seemed easy to kill, some to cocky, some to weak and very few seemed like a challenge to her. She saw that some of them didn't seem like they had ever touched a weapon, how would they be able to fight someone with skills such as hers? Tina stopped thinking about the others, they all would be dead soon enough, she just knew that she had nothing to live for and if she died no one would really care. All of the other contestants probably had a mother or lover waiting for them. But not Tina after she finishes this batter she is going to move on to another and than another until she finally loses and dies, just like the rest of her family.

Tina smiled, she missed her family a lot, there are somethings no one can replace and her family is one of those things. She looked up into the lights with a tear going down her face, she quickly wiped it away. No one could see that she was emotionally weak it would give them an advantage.

Tina was wearing a tan sweater with black shorts on, her hair was down like always and her hood was up. Once she got on stage with the others she didn't look around anymore just low enough so the shadow of her hood would block out her eyes so no one could tell what she was looking at, soon it will all be over and everyone will be dead. It will all be over soon.

Pinko's attention was now pulled away from Norbert, his eyes followed down the contestants that walked out, but noticed some refused to come out fighting with their leader. His smile vanished his face became bored, letting go of Norberts arm he walked over to them in a calm way. Silence fell between them as they saw the look on Pinko's face. The Crosshair leader became stiff and pulled back from his two Crosshair students, along with a dishonor student.

"Is there a problem going on here that is more important than what is going on now?" Bleak words escaped his lips and it made the two students stiffen up.

Dishonor student on the other hand only tightened up in anger. "How can you say that! This game is shit! Sacrificing people just for a show!? How in human can you be?!" rage escaped him as his loud voice echoed through the stadium. Everyone around them became quiet.

Pinko fell quiet, but the look in his eyes turned cold and dead.

"What makes you think you are so much better than any of us! What right do you have to do this to us and not pay the consequences! You're not god!" He stepped up close to Pinko's face, to meet his eyes head on, just inches away staring him down.

Pink bursted out laughing hard stepping back to hold his stomach. The Crosshair leader looked terrified but said nothing, but keep his students mouths covered with his hands, from how he was acting they became more frightened of Pinko's laughing. Dishonor student looked around him, seeing that no one was to back him up in his words. Not even the stadium. His eyes darted over to Pinko in an unsure way once Pinko stopped laughed, taking in a few breaths after wiping his eyes dry.

"Do you know what makes me different from all if not most of you?" His voice was like of but a snakes slither. His eyes have become a cold seductive look and his smile was more twisted than any human's soul. Pinko's hand lifted as the Dishonor student flinched a little, placing his hand on the jaws of hi, Pinko rubbed it softly, and placed his lips just inches from the Dishonor students. He kissed his lips longley and roughly making the boy drop to his knees out of breath. Pinko let his jaw go as he fell down. Blood dripped from Pinko's nails and just seconds before realizing what had happened, the boy fell down fully to the ground holding his jaw in pain. His screams echoed throughout the stadium, the cries became blood curdling and tortured. Pinko, shifted his body to face Norbert in a sad way, his hand still held up with blood on it.

"It looks like I had to do this again." Pinko sighed as he looked away from Norbert and down at the Dishonor student as he cried in pain, Pinko bent down and stared at him, tilting his head. "Still want to know what makes me different?" Tears fell from the boys eyes as he screamed again in pain, his face was swelled up and pussing, part of his face was a yellow green infection color. Pinko waited till the boy stopped screaming and spoke again, but this time he bent down by the boys ear and whispered. "..I have no soul for humanity.." Pinko took part of the boys shirt and wiped his hand clean from the blood.

Sighed again he rose up to his feet and glanced over at the Crosshair students and their leader. "Shall we continue?" He lifted his hand for them to get back in line. Quickly the flinched and rushed back to their group. Dishonor student's screams in pain slowly died down as he started to whimper for air. Pinko waved his hand as a bunch of people rushed in over to the boy. "He will be dead in a few minutes so just take him away and dispose of him."

"Now! He turned on his heel with a big smile on his face full of joy. "Where was we before the show was so rudely interrupted?...Oh yes!" Pinko's face lit up and you'd think what just happened was just a dream..or nightmare. "Each student will be given a ring of their Zodiac sign. But students you must listen to my words carefully. If you remove the ring from your finger, it will reduce an electric blot powerful enough to knock you out for 24 hours. Leaving you helpless and easy to kill. But if you are to survive the bolt and not being killed. Man eating wild boars and or wolves will be set out to kill you. So don't remove it." Pinko waved at Norbert to hand out the rings.

Carter felt a shiver run down his spine as Pinko placed his lethal, um, kiss upon the Dishonor student, leaving him in what appeared to be great pain. Carter had never quite agreed with the Games, however he was glad they'd give him a chance to prove himself to everyone. A kind of mixed emotions sort of thing, too complex for sufficiant explanation. But who cared. He wouldn't have to explain it, anyway, he'd just have to play the game. And the game wasn't too complex... Was it? He'd never fathomed how different it would be to actually play in the Zodiac Games. Maybe this was going to be more difficult and painful then how it had seemed watching it from the television screen back home. He'd never considered that it was harder in real life, never, not once. But he was here now, so no use getting all worked up about it. No need to show weakness. Or resent. Or anything else of the sort.

Carter accepted his ring with grace, nodding his head with a smile towards the presenter. He examined it closely. It looked elaborate, but he was sure there was nothing out of the ordinary about it. Well, besides the fact that taking it off resulted in being struck by lightening, anyway. He slipped it on his right hand's ring finger, smiling as it glinted in the subtle light. It was actually quite incredible, he had to admit. And he knew one thing was for certain: Nothing could make him take it off.

((Sorry it's not that good. :/ I had limited time.))

The sudden but not wholly unexpected grip of Pink gripping Etienne's arm dragged the Game Tracker away from the sight of the contestants marching in. He knew each of them at this point, not by personal contact but by his own thorough investigations. After all, what sort of Tracker would he be if he didn't know the people he was keeping an eye on? Still, even in the glimmering stadium surrounded by countless people cheering as they made their way onstage, Etienne's attention was easily diverted. Fuchsia Pinko had that effect on people.

"This is going to be so much fun Norb!" The pink-haired host was bouncing excitedly, acting more like a child then he had when Etienne first met him so many years ago. Norb. It was enough for Etienne's smile to transform from a fake, stage smile to an honest grin. The nickname had spawned from their awkward first meeting, Etienne's mumbled out introduction of the French Nobert having sounded so much like Norbert that it stuck despite his initial attempts to get his friend to call him Etienne. Now it was just charming, a little joke almost between friends or whatever they were at this point.

"Sorry I dragged you out here. I just wanted you next to me." Etienne gave Pinko's arm a reassuring squeeze, shaking his head.

"No need to apologize. I'm happy to be out here," 'With you' went unsaid. Etienne's voice had a pleasant rasp to it from his years of cigarettes to stave off the constant stress he was under both as a teenager trying to support his family, then as one of the main members of the Zodiac Games crew. They'd smelled awful, even to him, but it was the one indulgence that he'd allowed himself, something to keep himself sane. He'd quit recently, evidenced by the nicotine patch on the inside of his elbow hidden by his suit, but the craving was still there and the rasp was a permanent side effect of his addiction.

Pinko chattered on excitedly and Etienne allowed him to ramble, splitting his attention between his friend and the last of the contestants making their way onto the stage. That is, until the host suggested that he reintroduce himself. It was a disturbing thought, for some reason, that he would have to say his name again not because he was vain about his own celebrity but because that meant that they had new viewers. There were people alive now, old enough to watch the games or not, that had only known a world of the Zodiac Games. Some were tuning in for their first time and they would never know a world where this was outside the norm, just the crazy pipe dream of an orphan. It was unsettling and for half a second his smile flickered before returning with a little less sincerity as he opened his mouth to speak-

-Only, as it turned out, to be interrupted by the last of the contestants filtering in. Three contestants, one Dishonor and two Crosshairs, struggling with the Crosshair leader as he attempted to tug them onto the stage. Etienne's stomach dropped at the same time that Pinko let go of his arm. He kept his face perfectly schooled even as dread began to creep up his spine as the Dishonor contestant began to rant and, as he continued on, Pinko's face changed. It wasn't perky and sweet, not bubbly or innocent. It was the man beneath all of the pink, the one whose mind was twisted enough- brilliant enough, his mind corrected him- to create the Zodiac Games.

Etienne purposefully averted his eyes as Pinko leaned in towards the boy's face, eyes staring out into the crowd who seemed to be frozen with anticipation. The boy's scream shattered the silence, but Etienne didn't allow himself to look. He had to see enough people die during the games, he should be allowed to avoid it before and after.

A stagehand broke from the ranks of people carting the dying boy off, his screams dying down to whimpers, a death-rattle if Etienne had ever heard one, and handed Etienne an ornate box before disappearing behind the scenes. Despite Pinko's return to his bubbly facade, the crowd was still quiet, in awe of what they had just experienced. Or disturbed, but in awe seemed much more Pinko's style.

"My name is Etienne Nobert, your Game Tracker," he finally spoke aloud, voice carrying as he held the first ring up, the piece of jewelry glinting in the light. "Each ring is also engraved with the contestant's Zodiac identity. This is, of course, to make my job as easy as possible." There was a bubble of light laughter in the crowd, but it was enough to break the spell they had fallen over them when the Sagittarius boy had dared to defy the show's host. Etienne may not be able to work the crowd like Pinko, no one really could, but considering he hadn't just murdered someone, it was easier to break the tension.

He walked down the line, partially facing the audience who was regaining its roar of approval, handing out each ring with a tight if real smile. That smile would be the last act of kindness, however minute, they could expect once they placed their rings on. When the last one was handed out, he shut the case with a snap before the cameras could catch the last ring, that of the Sagittarius, and remind everyone of what had just occurred. Not that the crowd would really mind. Now that they'd snapped out of their awe-struck state, they were as ready as ever for the next brutality to occur. The box was passed quietly off to the same stage hand who had brought it and Etienne made his way smoothly back to Pinko's side.

Lyrica Breslin

Lyrica had already been frowning at her feet when the crowd suddenly silenced its cheers, caught off-guard by some unexpected event. She slipped her head from behind the curtain, curious, only for what had once been a tiny, downturned expression of discontent to turn into what was the beginning of a scream. She slid a hand into the folds of her dress and drew out a carefully-concealed microphone, flicking the 'on' switch with her thumb and adjusting the earpiece in her other hand.

"I need the situation. Now," she demanded into the small bud as she eyed the boy— or what was left of him— being pulled offstage with a seeping gash the color of dank seawater and urine splitting what had once been a set of fine features. Shoulders scrunched high in apprehension, she tapped the heel of her boot against the metal scaffolding she leaned against. It was a few moments before Dmitriy's voice, no more than a low rumble amidst the backstage chatter, edged its way into her thoughts.

"The boy confronted Pinko," Dmitriy murmured. Lyrica's eyes found the mountain of a man assessing the situation from one of the wings. He was a honeybee in a sea of swarming, black-clad ants, easy to pick out with his glinting head and the sheer mass he carried. She considered smiling at him before the reality of the situation began to hit home. She leaned forward, businesslike, continuing to listen. Dmitriy's accent was still thick even after years of living with and working with her, and sometimes she struggled to understand the words, but listening to the gravelly garblings of the smaller of her two bodyguards was far more pleasant than listening to the constant stream of curses flowing from the mouth of the more linguistically-gifted Donovai. "Short story shorter, Pinko gets angry and slashes the boy."

"Slashes the boy?"

"Quite literally. With his, ah, fingers." Dmitriy searched for words. "Fingernails." Lyrica was about to cut him off; she didn't much care for Pinko's modus operandi. Fumes were already beginning to build in her head, and she'd bunched up her skirt to the point that clenching her fists any harder would be scandalous. Her eyes, once a baby-blue comparable to the cerulean expanses of the sky, had clouded with rage and roved the churning crowds for an answer. Something to fill the brief radio silence.

Lyrica's next words were a hiss unfettered by even an inkling of fear. "Tell Pinko we're going to have words later," she said. No one, not even the illustrious bastard Pinko himself, messed with her team. She knew well that he was a showman and that confronting him about it now would be the death of her, but she'd been able to get a word in edgewise when the real conversations went on behind the scenes. She'd be talking to Pink about this for sure. Regardless of the spectacle the boy had made, killing him onstage before the games even started was unacceptable. Now her team was one member down. One weaker. "In fact, the moment we're free, make sure he knows I'll be in his office. And get Donovai on my tail. I'm going to watch over what's left of them to make sure they're not rolling in their graves in an hour's time." There was no fear in her voice; Lyrica Breslin didn't fear even a heartless killer.

With that, Lyrica set off onstage with her now-depleted team: two boys, brothers, and a girl who looked like she'd been torn to pieces. She'd read the profiles, but it had looked as though the situation was hopeless. Still, she loosened her shoulders and pasted something of an angelic smile onto her face. It didn't seem to suit her when she was dressed in black.

Now, however, hopeless situation or not, she'd be damned if her team didn't win. Pinko could just go to Hell with his poisoned nails and his carelessness and his vanity.

---

Calais Lambda

Calais' back was tight, the muscles clenched as though chilled hands were slowly making their way up his spine. He couldn't concentrate anymore; his head spent half the time wanting to punt every other person right in the face and the other half wishing he could just run away like a defeated queen bitch with his tail between his legs and desperation in his eyes.

Ha. Desperation. As if he needed any more of that.

He could still feel the fabric of his prison uniform on his skin, the feeling of hands that weren't his own atop his shoulders, pressing the fabric down into the flesh. He could still taste the electricity from the baton in his mouth alongside blood and the gun's iron from when it, too, had been forced into his mouth— as though it would get him to speak. He'd only quirked one cocky eyebrow before leaning forward so he could knee the guard where it hurt most, practically swallowing the barrel in the process. His throat had ached for days where he'd forced it down, and he'd had to fight the bile hard, but it had been worth it. The guard was limping the next morning, he'd heard when he'd gotten out of the hellhole that was solitary confinement.

A scream cut through the air, and at first, Calais couldn't separate memory from from the real cries of the audience he wanted so desperately to avoid. Even that, however, died down, leaving only screams of pain. Agony. Calais had watched men die before, listened them as their guts spilled out onto the floor while he was eating lunch, but this was different. This was just pure pain. He spared a quick glance behind him and caught sight of something he couldn't even classify as a face until a few seconds later.

He didn't understand how people could kill.

Calais fought back bile and the taste of gunmetal now playing at the corners of his mouth. No, he couldn't kill. He could maim. Bash. Break heads. But he didn't finish the job. When he left someone bleeding in the middle of a hallway, he didn't cut the throat even when it was a simple flick of the wrist away from being done. He didn't take life, and he didn't understand how others could. He didn't know why or how the boy had died, but it was all Calais could do not to vomit at the sight of it.

Calais went back to clenching the muscles in his back in anticipation as the rings were handed out. He'd watched the Games before in the Rec room, doing his best to keep to himself as the other young inmates smoked, gambled, gossiped, and occasionally fought over the six plastic chairs strewn haphazardly across the room. No doubt, they were there now, sucking away at cigarettes and perhaps noticing that the quiet, angry boy in the corner, the one they'd left alone because he'd landed most of them with a good hit or two while they'd landed their own on him, was gone. That he'd taken up residence in the depths of the TV screen that would glow long into the night.

He snapped the ring up not gracelessly but with too much force from the man handing the rings out, a perfect expression of petulant laziness scrawled across features just dying to land themselves in front of a camera. Even if it wasn't his intention, he made it clear that he was the type of person to take what he wanted even when it wasn't offered to him. He'd nearly had to cut throats to get here, and there was no way he was giving that up right before he got to the gate. Still, he couldn't keep the slight air of desperate hunger from his bones. Calais slipped the thing onto his middle finger, sure to raise it just a bit too much toward the flashing cameras, and glanced around.

Odd. His team leader still wasn't there, but the other two were.

---

Remy Coulter

Remy Coulter watched from a screen, stomach turning as Pinko first kissed a boy and then killed him. He didn't know why it'd happened; one moment, he'd been watching the usual bright, abeit boring, spectacle of the opening show, and then he'd turned his head away for a second only to find the man in pink slitting the boy's cheek. And kissing him on live television. How odd.

He stood in the wings, rooted in place after having gotten cold feet as he moved to follow the other leaders outside. The Crosshair leader, the one he'd never much spoken to, was struggling to pull two of his charges onstage, last he'd seen. The team itself was a joke— it always had, and he couldn't see it taking the lead anytime soon under the charge of the moron running it. Dishonor, however, was another story. Breslin... he didn't like the woman. Though she put on such a sweet face during the day, he could see right through her skin to the scheming brew beneath. She was smart, and Remy didn't like smart when it came to the few who could think their way in circles around him.

The ocean of black bodies surged around him like a tidal wave to carry away the dying boy. He'd been good-looking before, if Remy was to say so himself, but now his features were distorted, swollen and warped as though they were the pages of some forgotten novel left for dead in the rain. What remained of a pussing mouth snapped and gasped for air, choking its way around the seeping wound marring the stage-perfect skin. He felt a pang of pity.

Pity that the boy was poisoned, that was. Pity he was rotten meat. He liked to keep bits and pieces of the contestants, souvenirs— trophies, some would say, although trophies of what Remy wasn't certain. On the first night of the games, he always did enjoy his special meal: a platter of of anything from eight to eleven different miniature dishes prepared specially to bring out the light, bitter, often spiced flavor of the meats. The portions were small, usually cuts of muscle tissue from the legs and occasionally the arms, but each was well-prepared and complimented the contestant's flavor well. As human flesh was something of a delicacy, he didn't spare anything in the process. Sometimes, the dishes would even include a gesture to the contestant's heritage or a jab at his death.

Poison like Pinko's, however, fast-acting, potent, and disfiguring— and certainly not a neurotoxin but a gangrenous agent— would give a sour flavor to the meat next year. But it was no matter. Though he was still annoyed at Pinko for killing the boy like that, he'd be speaking to his chef tonight to see if it could be salvaged. At least it had been a Dishonor. Had it been one of his own, he might have found the will to feel angered at the young man's death, but he didn't have the energy right now. He never did. Offhandedly, he wondered if Lyrica would confront Pink about it. While he was more the type to let things go, bring about his revenge in a more gentle, roundabout fashion, Lyrica just loved to dive head and shoulders into trouble. She let her emotions get the better of her, and it'd probably kill her someday.

How interesting. Remy let his mind drift to other matters, however— namely, the grandest dinner of the year.

Though it was an annual tradition, Remy knew the feast would be especially extravagant this year, as they'd won the last Games by the hair on their necks. He'd lost most of his own team in the process, and though, objectively, it had been a disadvantage, it had the benefit of giving him all the more flavors to work with this opening night. He relished the thought of the twins, especially, who had passed from poisoning by the hands of a Crosshair who'd promptly been slaughtered by a diminutive young Dishonor girl, leaving the odd-couple Darcy and Lierich to fend for themselves for most of the game. He'd liked those boys. They thought things through.

At the last minute, Remy slipped through the curtains unnoticed to take up his post behind his team of four. He still had yet to even catch their names, but he tapped them each a greeting and slipped the four of them a note behind their backs.

[[Sorry I can't tag anyone properly right now :/ my connection's being Hellishly slow right now, so the popup list isn't showing its face. Sigh. At least I got one person...]]