The Writer Games | Once In A Lifetime & World Edition

Welcome: Custer Mudd

"Are you suggesting I take the ridiculous outfit angle for this?"

Custer mutters out the rebuttal, his eyes mimicking the wheel of the chariot he rode before.

The bull-necked stylist  glares at him gnawing into his fat lip as if to stop him from biting off  the boy's nose. His elegantly embroidered fingernails purse into the  palm of his hand. Boney knuckles protrude from the back like strained  mountains.

Custer cast a fleeting  glance at a mirror to his left, frowning in dissatisfaction at the giant  stalk of wheat staring back at him. He huffs blowing a strewn stalk out  of his red face. They didn't even grow wheat in Eleven. He wonders if  Buttons knew that.

All he knew was that Buttons was ruining his chances.

Custer Mudd can win these games on his own. Everyone who tries to help just lowers his chances.

(>'_')> ====== # (^'_'^)

He practically is forced  to waddle to his seat, the tightly packed strands of produce  imprisoning his movement to an abrupt gait.

"Hello Hello....my my my what have we here?"

Helvetica's originally  lighthearted joke turned into negative reality, her eyes flitting up and  down my odd outfit as her forced smile momentarily falters.

"I'm Custer Mudd." He  stumbles over the words as his mouth parches and tongue transforms into  sandpaper. His usual confidence is shaken, but, it is hard to be  confident in a wheat costume.

Helvetica wimps away a  string of crimson curls cascading down the side of her face. She quickly  recomposes herself turning to me with a sinister grin, the unrealistic  sheen flicker down onto her spotted coat.

"Custer! What is your strategy for these games?" She inquires with excitement as faux as the fur on her coat.

He stares back at her  with placid disgust. "My plan was to actually tell all the other  tributes my plan so they can kill me." Custer's confident grin freezes  into shudders as Helvetica growls in response with a crinkle of her  nose.

"How far do you want to get in the arena?" Her former kindness has evaporated leaving a blunt freak to conduct my interrogation.

"Well I was actually  hoping I could die real early on." His devilish eyes taunt Helvetica, "I  thought maybe someone could torture me too to add to my enjoyment." The  crowd roars in appreciation of the irony.

"Why do you hope to win?" Helvetica could've been replaced with a monotonously restrained robot by now.

"I told you I want to die."

"That's great."

"What tribute do you  think is the biggest threat and which one do you think is the least  threat." She questions loosening into a soft smile in relief of a  question that finally made sense. She may even avoid a petulant rebuke  from the wild tempered tribute.

Custer thought differently.

He thought.

And he thought.

"Fin then Odessa." He squeaks out in a single syllable looking sheepishly across at the devilish grin of victory.

"What make you think you can go the distance?" She manages to turn the confidence abiding inquiry to a medium for gloating.

"Cause I can do this!" He shouts flinging my untouched glass of water into her face.

That was the last thing Custer remembered of the night.