thearena | (no subject)

Who| Mouse and you! Particularly R, Max, and others who wanted to beat on him
What| Post planetarium blowing up, a shocked Mouse goes exploring
Where| All over the place. Just start where ever works for you!
When| All this week, up until his death in Venus' post
Warnings/Notes| Violence

It'd been too good to last. Same old story of his life, really. Even the old Neb never stayed in one place for long, always shoving off to the next great threat, faces on board changing between fights. In a place even more centered on violence for violence sake, he really wasn't shocked-

Ugh. Mouse have a sharp head shake at that mental slip. Shocked. So not where he needed his brain space now, not after how the planetarium- Punchy in particular- had gone the way of the dodo. So, no. He wasn't sho- ah, surprised, it had come to an end. But he was still shaken from the suddenness. Call it the surrealness catching up to him.

So he wasn't exactly at his best as he crept through the corridors, opting to slip through stairways than take the elevators as he really got a fresh look at the place. Scoping out new hiding spots, finding the food.

And, with his luck, stumbling on the more inhospitable residents of the area.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He took a page out of Pruna's book and started watching the elevators. R told himself he should think of it like his "collecting" trips when he'd been a zombie - ownership was leery at best in the city's ruins and if it was sitting out in the open, it was okay to take it. Fair game. Besides, the other corpses were probably still feasting on the owners. It was a welcome distraction from the...sounds. Something to keep his mind off the gore splashing across faces and walls.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. His stomach felt like it shriveled on itself after a few days without food, his head pounding with what he'd been told was one of the signs of dehydration.

R pumped himself up in the meantime. The odds were he'd have to fight someone over supplies sooner than later and this time he'd like to not get stabbed by a little girl. R tried to channel his inner Howard by picking the darkest shadow he could cram his body into, hunching over with his eyes on the elevator doors, the crowbar at his side where he could reach. It was a lot of waiting. Listening to his stomach protesting. Shifting weight when his foot feel asleep.

He almost missed the shadow slipping from the stairwell and creeping across hall. Unluckily for Mouse, the elevator dinged just as he was passing by. And because R wasn't the best at judgment calls, he decided to jump the gun and jump Mouse.

R lunged out of his hiding spot and took the world's most telegraphed swing at Mouse with the crowbar.

Now this was a familiar feeling. Granted, it had been bullets that sent him tumbling to the floor last time around, but it still hurt. The feeling of air as it rushed out of his lungs when the crowbar made contact left him gasping for breath the same way the bullet holes had. The main difference was, this time, Mouse still had to deal with the after.

He'd been through enough training to know to roll even before he could breathe properly again, trying to get out of the direct line of attack and back on his feet before the second blow came. Too bad the whole lack of air thing left him unable to fall back on his normal pleading and banter. Just looks wise, he wasn't much of a charmer.

Though, he had just enough time to mentally note as he caught sight of the other man, at least he looked better than that. Holy shit.

The fact he'd actually hit floored him. R hadn't expected to feel the shock of the crowbar hitting a body traveling up his arm, the almost wet thud of iron slamming into flesh. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. Weapon-use hadn't really been a priority before.

His surprise made him hesitate, breaking yet another survival rule of conduct. Another Tribute would've been pulling back the crowbar to attack again before Mouse could get up. Go for, say, the squishiest part of his skull and keep beating it in until he stopped twitching. R wasn't that Tribute. His face wasn't distorted by a kill-or-be-killed snarl; it was frozen in a shocked expression, his mouth parted, eyes wide.

Somehow it was different killing someone with a weapon. R's hesitation lasted for a split second too long, leaving a rare opening for Mouse...

One that wasn't wasted. Support staff he may normally be, he'd seen his share of missions. The punch wasn't the clean controlled blow Morpheus would have dished out, but a punch to the gut didn't need to be clean. It just needed to hit. He winced a little as he actually got a sniff of the guy as the punch landed, his lungs working overtime to make up for the lost air. But at least they'd both be gasping now.

The second the crowbar hit the floor he jerked a foot out, kicking it to the side. Smarter move may have been to pick it up himself, but he didn't trust his coordination that much just yet. Bending over in front of a guy covered in blood wasn't high on his priority list just yet. Besides, he wasn't really looking to turn the tables on this one, wasn't too keen on killing an actual human being.

He just wanted to run.

R reacted like anyone who got punched in the stomach - he folded over with a surprised whuff of air, the crowbar sent skittering away and into the shadows before he even remembered he was supposed to hold onto it. To his surprise, he actually had trouble breathing, his pants hoarse, ragged.

This never would've happened if he was full-dead. Actually, he would've sank his teeth into the kid's throat by now.

R grabbed blindly at Mouse, trying to drag him closer, down to the floor. He didn't understand the finesse of fighting or Survival 101 - what he did know was how to bring down prey and that meant holding on with a death grip. Pulling toward him. No idea if this Tribute had a knife somewhere or he had buddies. R tangled his hand in what felt like a shirt, dropping his weight down and hoping it'd be harder to get nailed in the gut a second time around.

Use your teeth.

That was the next logical step. It was his only weapon, the one thing he knew he was good at. R resisted the urge, grunting as he tried to get Mouse's struggling under control.

"Shit, shit, shit."

Mouse really wished he could think of a more dramatic statement than that- if people were to believed he was on candid camera right now and all- but sharp wit was a lot easier to keep up in a life and death struggle in the movies than reality (or the Matrix). So rather than using what little air he had won to say some memorable last words, Mouse could only chant the curse like a mantra as he went back down to the ground, blindly kicking out in the meantime.

The kick hammers him in the thigh, R grunting as he tries to wrestle this Tribute into control. There's a vague impression that he's losing control. Mostly there's that urge suddenly resurfacing with a vengeance telling him he knows what to do. That he's not totally defenseless. R lashes out without aiming, without registering he's snarling.

He sinks his teeth into the nearest body part. It's more of a flail than calculated strike, desperate in a different way compared to a zombie's.

"Are you kidding?"

It wasn't snappy, but it was all he could think to say- hell, all he could think at all- as the teeth sunk in. That was more than painful, more than terrifying, it was disgusting. Which is why a note of hysteria had entered the usually flippant voice as he re-doubled his efforts to escape the grapple.

Does he look like he's kidding? It's a losing fight to hold on, R's mouth ripping free as the kid jerks his arm away. If he'd been a proper zombie, he would've been lunging for seconds, probably would've teethed his way to a major artery. Now he's struggling to control which arms are going where, the kid squirming like a damn fish or something. It's only a matter of time before Mouse is able to wriggle his way to freedom, trying to scrabble after him with his mouth caked in the other Tribute's blood.

And the second he's free, Mouse is done with this battle to the death business. Hell, he's done with the battle to anything game. This guy was coming after him with Mouse's own blood on the other man's teeth. Mouse had not signed up for these games, but he had especially not signed up for this. So he's outright sprinting in the other direction, crowbar and the rest left behind, the moment he's able.

With any luck, the pure sugar diet of the past week can at least let him out run the other man in the short term.

Another Arena and that might not have worked - he would've had a zombie staggering after him sniffing out that blood trail like it's a "come finish me off" sign.

Now, though, it's enough.

R lets Mouse go as he spits out the mouthful of blood and wishes he didn't have that little voice inside wishing he'd gotten a bigger bite. Wiping at his chin, he turns to collect his prize...and this time he remembers to look over his shoulders, check both ways for any Tributes with the same idea.

(no subject)

R probably looks like shit coming at him/bloody shirt, bandaged/bloody neck

D:

Feel free to make R drop the crowbar!

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Mind if R panic-bites?

Go for it!

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