LOVEY D5 GAMEMAKERS

Instructions

Lovey sat on the bench, carefully keeping their tail above the floor. The marbel looked clean, yes, but it was likely deceptively so. It was a *floor,* afterall. That's where everyone put their paws, probably not wiping them off before coming in. The truth was, Lovey was extra nervous right now. The gamemakers weren't worth giving the speech about Birdie, they had to do that publically, and now, they didn't have the interviews as a saving grace afterwards since they completely and utterly blew the parade. They were shocked they even ever managed to get a score as high as they did. They were definitely screwed in these gamemakers too, afterall, they were far from having *any* real skills, let alone ones that'd let them advance here. "Lovey Calcutt, District 5." The speaker suddenly announced, making Lovey jump by jolting them from their thoughts. They glanced around. Somehow, everyone in front of them were already gone and they were just holding up the line now. They gulped and jumped off the bench, walking slowly and nervously into the room awaiting them. OH, THAT'S BRIGHT. The type of lighting, in fact, that would attract thousands of bugs. Lovey's tail twitched at the thought and they almost fled right then and there as they blinked rapidly to adjust their sight, but they forced themself to continue walking. Air, coming from vents that Lovey hadn't quite noticed until now, rushed at them from all sides, resulting in an uncomfortable clash of temperatures. Was that safe? No, it wasn't. They could recall being told that can cause organ failure or tissue damage. Bad. Was this enough to cause that? They didn't know. They could only pray it wasn't. It was enough to get them moving though, praying that if they stepped in the right spot it'd get them to one singular temperature. They risked a glance at the gamemakers, who seemed a little annoyed. One of them was happily snacking away on shrimp like this was a normal, everyday situation. But their eyes tracked something, giving Lovey pause. It was a bright yellow balloon. That's it. Just a single balloon. And it went, up. Up. Up. Floating steadily away from Lovey like it was something to be followed. A glance back at the gamemakers confirmed that retrieving that balloon was the goal here, the only one. They stared at their surroundings uncertainly for a minute. They caught a rack of weapons and a rack of plants and sticks. They glanced at the balloon, which was only getting further...and further...and further away. No. They urgently grabbed longest lance they could manage off the weapons rack, and just a couple knives *just* in case. They raised the lance up in the air and shoved the sharp end into the first vent they found as a form of leverage. It flung them quicker than expected, but they aimed properly for the balloon. They tucked their legs in and theyfell short of the balloon. Lovey desperately reached for the string, scrambling, but only caught one claw into it. They tried to hook the knives in but missed, catching them in the vent above instead as Lovey fell back to the floor with a harsh thud. Immediately, they wanted to vomit. *Ouch.* They felt dizzy and their vision was blacking out enough to make their chest tight with panic. They dragged themself to the plants rack and strained for a piece of marshmallow root to help the feeling in his throat. They chewed it between their teeth and swallowed before checking for other injuries. They'd lingered in the air when they'd hit the middle of the room, before they'd fallen from his movement. Maybe there was enough air in here that they could use it to float? They pondered the thought for a moment. Their arm was broken, the same one they used to reach for the balloon. They swore under their breath and grabbed some comfrey, boneset, and stinging nettle, quickly smearing it onto the injury. They grabbed a couple sticks and leaves to gently, yet firmly, tie together a splint. They looked up at the gamemakers, who didn't seem to care much and felt a burst of frustration. They looked at the balloon, which appeared to be slightly lower while the knives were still lodged into the vent. They took a deep breath and, with a wave of pure spite, they grabbed more knives. They ran for the middle of the room, as best they safely could with a limp, and waited for the room to float up. The balloon was just out of reach from the center, even more so now. They didn't particularly want to *fall* again, so instead, they grabbed the knives and lodged them into the remaining spots in the vent carefully, more prescisely this time. They adjusted the other knives too. The only flaw in this plan was that they were not, in fact, a balloon. The balloon was close to the ground from the below cool air now, sure, but they were not so lucky. Without the air from above, they were pressed up against the ceiling. And apparently, the knives were a *really* bad idea because *now* various pieces of metal were flying