The Hunger Games-Roleplay discussion

((To keep from getting confused, this folder will be used for rping in the forest next to the town. Rping can include working, runaway missions, rebel HQs, ect))

((Awesome! Thanks :) ))

((Alright.))

Peter nodded and glanced at Al to make sure she was fine. "To the bungelo?" He questioned, referring to their headquarters.

((Huh, I haven't posted anything from Isabella in quiet a bit. Perhaps I will do that now, though I have no idea who she would intercept.))

Isabella crept through the dense foliage, moving into her usual hunter's position.
A sudden burst of realization hit her, thinking that Isabella was supposed to be dead and a Peacekeeper creeping through the forest was rather odd.
She straightened, red flaring in her cheeks and tromped off.
A faint pondering light in her mind, tracing back to...Lore. Of all people, she was thinking about Lore. God, why was she thinking about him? She couldn't help it though, her mind forced it.
She bit her lip. Where is he? What is he doing now?

Rebel Bungelo

Peter crept along after Wren, his taller build allowing him to scout ahead for anything suspicious. The small cabin appeared as they drew nearer, looking for all the world like a deserted logger's place.

However, as they came closer, hardly unnoticable signs of life became apparent. A fresh stack of logs for burning when it got cold. The grass around the door was bent.

"Good to be home," Peter murmered.

((Hey, maybe Isabella and Lore could meet up?))

Isabella lean against a terribly tall oak, resting for a moment.
Though, she was really scanning the vicinity, searching for intruders.
Or maybe a rebel.

Peter shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, kinda. I come here when Mom wants to be alone," he replied, forcing his voice to stay neutral.

He entered the small glade, walking in a circle around the house, eyes turned to the forest. His eyes suddenly lite up as he found what he was looking for. Peter walked briskly over to a stump, wrapped his arms around it, and grunted. Slowly, the tree base turned. A few seconds later, the stump top screwed off, revealing a small hole.

"Down there's a small tunnel to get inside," Peter explained. "I never use the front door, in case a Peacekeeper decided to take a nap from patrols."

((Alright!))

Isabella kicked a stray pebble away, irritated immensely with the entire situation. Her Peacekeeper rifle rattled at her side.

"I found this place when I was ten," Peter meerly answered and shrugged as if to say no big deal. However, a small, pleased smile quirked his lips.

"Ladys first." He turned to the hole with a sweeping gesture. "Careful, though," he warned. "It's only three feet high."

((Alright, introducing to the world, *drumroll* Xene! ))

High up in the trees, Xene watched the people down below, with a sly smile on her face. Her wild hair fell around her dirtied face, her even wilder looking eyes peering out from behind it all. She held back snickers, searching for any unguarded food or supplies.

Xene giggled quietly to herself, moving around another few branches to get a better view. She tilted her head to the side, grinning widely at them. Food? Anywhere?

Isabella stood, giving a last glance about before stepping out from the dark shade of the oak and contining on, trying her best to look like a stumbling Peacekeeper, though instincts kept her quiet.

Food? I don't see it. Come on people, where's the food?! thought, her eyes scanning every inch of everything down below. What, she couldn't help that she was hungry! Plus, food that she didn't have to kill and cook herself was a nice treat every once in awhile! Suddenly, her stomach growled loudly. Crud! Oh gosh, please let nobody hear, please let nobody hear...

Mo groaned, dirt getting in her shredded nightgown. Wait, dirt? She peeped her good eye open. Where were they, and why were they in the forest?

Matthew had finally sunk under consiousness, his head lolling to the side, his broken legs twisted in odd angles.
The man seemed unrelentless though, intent on dragging them.
A house was approaching, rundown and seemingly abandoned, if it wasn't for the tad bit of smoke trailing from the chimney.

"Where are we going?" Mo croaked, every bit of her body sore.

No response came forth, but as they approached the house, a figure stepped from the threshold, peering at them.

((What do I do with Candie??))

Isabella seemed to be hiking down a path that had remained hidden from most for quite some time.
Until Lore had shown her it.
Isabella shook her head, shaking the thoughts of him away, though they seemed intent on staying.
She breathed a sigh, pulling her stark white rifle up higher on her shoulder.

Kailee *the history maker* wrote: "((What do I do with Candie??))"

((She should escape, run after them, and then... well, there is a number of options from there. ))

Xene gasped at the weapon. She hated guns. Hated them. She wouldn't tell anybody why ever, but, she loathed them.

Mo closed her eyes as her brows furrowed. She hoped to dear gosh that this wasn't Matthew's father. Would he hurt Mo too? She didn't think either of them could take much more. And what about Candie? Was she alright?

((Okay well... I'll do something with Candie in the other topic. Just make sure to read it there! Eventually she will break out.))

Finally, they arrived before the house. Standing before them, with a half-smirk upon his face, ratty clothing and a scraggly beard was the very image of Matthew's father.
"Hello, Modre and Matthew I presume?" How did he know about Modre?
Matthew still lay under consiousness, unstirring.

"Hello." Mo said with a bitter tone, staring daggers at Mr. Woods.

"Modre." He addressed, moving forward slightly to take Matthew's inert form from the man.

"You can't have him." she blurted out, discreetly untying herself from the man's wounded ankle, a deep wound that she'd put there with her own teeth.

"You can't have him." she blurted out, discreetly untying herself from the man's wounded ankle, a deep wound that she'd put there with her own teeth.

"Yes I can. That is why I sent for him, obnoxious girl." He replied snottily, pulling Matthew away and stepping into the house. "Leave her here or bring her in. I don't care."

Mo's eyes, wild with pain, falled the man's body line until she found his face. She was waiting to see what he'd do, almost threatening him.

He glanced down at her, beginning to drag her inside the dingy house. Inside, Matthew was being lain on a dirty couch, a thick maroon blanket lay over him. Surprisingly gentle.

Mo's eyes traveled around the room. She'd never been inside of the Woods' house before, but was disappointed by the circumstances that she finally had to. She shifted her anticipating look to Matthew's father, watching, waiting. She expected some long villainous speech to start going pretty soon, call it a cliche, but she did.

His father lingered, laying a hand on his young son's forehead, before pulling on a cruel smirk, turning to Modre, though in his eyes, the same eyes Matthew held, lay a certain amount of worry.

Mo quirked her brow at Mr. Woods, a look of attitude. "What now?" she asked in a voice that was anything but frightened sounding.

(( We should get Zelene and Jake somehow... ))

((What do you mean?))

"Well, since you insisted on coming, you can help clean." He muttered, pulling Matthew's blanket up to the boy's chin before leaving.

((They should be brought here somehow. ))

"I don't really think I'm in moving condition." Mo said with a dark chuckle, unable to get up from the floor where she laid. "Should've thought of that."

((It might be against the rules though...of club rules. Might not be agreeable with the Gamemakers.))

"Pull up a chair and clean socks." Was his response, a bucket landing before her, brimmed with soapy water and socks.

(( Just sayin' my dear. ))

"I cannot move." Mo rephrased, but this time in a firmer voice.

((Hehe.))

"Yes you can. Or else you wouldn't have been able to untie that filthy rag from Mr. Johnson's leg." He called, stepping from the house. How on earth how had he known that?

(( Y U giggle? ))

"Alright, I can move my fingers on my left hand. Yippee!" Mo snorted sarcastically, her voice getting louder as he walked away. "You seem to know everything, why don't you tell me what condition I'm in!"

((Just your response. And the "Y U giggle" is rather amusing too.))

"Able to clean socks." He was gone, the door slamming shut with an audible crack.
Matthew's eyes fluttered open, his brow furrowing as he glanced at Modre.

(( I'm a rather amusing person, dontcha think? Well, most the time. ))

"I'm not cleaning his damned socks." Mo muttered, before looking at Matt. "Matt, are you okay?"

((Most of the time.))

Matthew rolled his eyes. At least he had the energy for that.
"Yeah, I am completely fine. I have no injuries at all and I could dance right now." Matthew muttered sarcastically.
"You got the sock bucket? Be glad, that is a compliment. He reserves the worst chores for those he doesn't like."

(( *success* ))

"Woohoo, I got the sock bucket! I feel blessed!" Mo cheered sarcastically, looking at Matthew, "What, I'm capable of sarcasm too."

"Shush Oci." He smiled slightly, shoving the blanket of him. "I hate that man." He mused, examinging his horribly bent legs.

"Me too." Mo grumbled, poking her right shoulder, and wincing almost immediately. "I don't think I can pop it back into place myself." she whimpered.

"I can, if you come here." He sat up, still examining the torn and ravaged legs he called his. "God damn." He cursed them.

"If you thought I was lying about not being able to move, you're wrong." Mo said, "I got my ribs and chest kicked pretty badly. The only thing that isn't completely useless is my legs now, but I can't get up."

"Neither can I." He muttered.