thearena | (no subject)

Day 1

Alex heads out to get a better lay of the land, the fog pressing in like a solid thing he could touch. He alternates between being glad he has a layer of armor between him and…any skin he has left, and being annoyed that every step he make comes with its own marching band. His feet thud heavily against the asphalt. What should’ve been his hips and waist whirr whenever he moves no matter how much he thinks shut the hell up. He couldn’t be stealthy if his life depended on it. Maybe he can just hope there’s a certain intimidation factor to the armor. Scare off anyone thinking they can stab him in the face.

It’s dark out when he hits up the building at the very edge of town. It’s more run down than the others, with a wall of creepers and there isn’t a door at all. He thinks – hopes – that it looks so crappy that the other Tributes might’ve passed it up as a place to check for supplies. He know he would.

Alex steps inside, ducking underneath a low beam. The floor’s strewn with debris and weeds, bricks from where the chimney went down at some point. Stepping over them, he picks his way to what might’ve been a closet. He’s in the middle of shoving aside coat hangers and old jackets when the floor cracks.

Clearly it wasn’t built to support cyborgs.

Alex falls into the basement, hitting the bottom with a deafening thud. Any other day and he would’ve broken his neck and been another Day 1 casualty for the Arena. With the chassis absorbing the impact, he mostly just lies there in surprise, pinned by a beam he can’t get the purchase to push off.

As it happens, Alex is right about one thing: other Tributes have passed up this building as a place to check for supplies. By this point, Bucky has already done some scouring for supplies, and now he's looking for a place to camp out for the night.

When he hears the nearby clanking, stomping, whirring noises, he assumes at first that it's some kind of machine monster sent by the Gamemakers. He doesn't yet know whether he has the equipment to fight something like that--the closest thing he has to a weapon right now is a flashlight. So he hides deep within an overgrown corner, obscured by vines and weeds and a few pieces of crumbling furniture.

He's only certain that Alex is another Tribute when he falls through the floor. The Gamemakers' own creations wouldn't sabotage themselves like that.

He slowly, cautiously emerges from the corner, brushing leaves and grime off himself, and picks his way carefully across the room to the hole in the floor. "That was some bad luck for you."

Alex tries to twist around at the voice. Instead of pain, he gets a lot of ominous creaking that he can't tell if it's a part of the ceiling or it's his own back...assuming he has a spinal chord. At this point he doesn't even know. He manages to maneuver himself so he can see what looks like a shape of guy leaning over. It's too dark to see his face, although Alex has the impression that his HUD is trying:

[ THERMAL PROCESSING_OFFLINE ] and [ NIGHT VISION_OFFLINE ] pop up like floaters, Alex blinking rapidly out of instinct as if that will clear them.

Christ, he hopes this isn't one of those Tributes he heard about. What was it? Those "Careers". Alex is really, really hoping this guy isn't one of those.

"Tell me about it. You giving me a hand?" Alex keeps his voice down, keeps it casual even though he knows he's in trouble. He gets an impression of long hair hanging down over the man's face, something off with his arm. Other than that, he looks like he's built well enough that Alex wouldn't have wanted to get into a fist fight with him back in Detroit.

Bucky himself never had any fancy night vision technology to begin with. All he sees down there in the hole is a vaguely human shape. But he recalls the noises he was hearing, and he's cautious.

Crouching down, he tries to make out more. No luck. So instead of offering a clear and definitive reply, he simply says, "That depends. You gonna try to kill me if I get you out of there? I know it's tempting, but that wouldn't end well."

Alex actually sighs: it's exasperated, impatient, but he totally can't blame this guy for playing it safely. If their positions were reversed, he's not even sure he would've stopped even if he's supposed to be a cop. Not with his wife on the line, with a crappy barricade between her and the other Tributes.

"I'll do my best," Alex says dryly. "If you don't stab me in the face. My buddies won't like it."

Alex lies without even thinking about it. It's what got him this far when he was a regular detective who only had to worry about gun runners and drug dealers and if he's learned anything, it's don't let someone you don't trust think you're alone.

Up on the splintered floor, Bucky looks down into the darkness with an unimpressed expression. Sure, the other guy can't see it, but it comes across well enough in his voice when he speaks again. "They're expecting your buddies to fight and kill too, you know. So pardon me for being cynical."

In the same breath as he says that, though, he's lowering himself a little so he can reach safely down into the hole. "I don't give a crap about what people expect of me, though, so come on. I'll help you up."

He's wearing a long-sleeved jacket and gloves; it's hard to get a good read on just how muscular he is underneath it. But the grip of his hands is firm--both on his right where it's warm and on his left where it's cool and hard.

There's silence from Alex's end, as if he's debating how much he should tell this guy, how much he should broadcast how totally screwed he is.

"...I can't reach. Got pinned down," Alex grits out each word reluctantly. He knows it's a miracle - plus the damn life-support/whatever they rigged him into - that he didn't get crushed to death but it doesn't change the fact that he can't worm his way free. Even if he goes with his bluff that he's got bigger friends who'll issue God's biggest ass-kicking to anyone who kills him, there's no promising that Good Samaritan here won't change his mind. He could easily kill him or leave him here and book it in the opposite direction.

Alex shifts his head so he can better see the shadow trying to reach in. Alex can get his arm up, kind of, but as far as he can tell they didn't construct his arms to go a full 360 degrees of motion. No way he'll reach from here.

For a dangerous moment, only silence greets him, and then a pained chuckle. "You have no luck at all, pal."

And then he's jumping down lightly into the hole himself, scrambling down the jagged rotten wood without taking any injuries, deft in his movements--even to limited vision, in the dark, it should be clear that he's more than just broad and tough, he's also quite agile and capable.

Bucky crouches to try to get a better look at the situation, to figure out how he can help free the other man. "Or maybe you've got all the luck, with that robot suit of yours. You'd be dead without it for sure."

How his rescuer made that landing is beyond him: Alex suspects if he'd tried that stunt before all this, he probably would've broken his ankle or something on the way down.

"Lucky me," Alex mutters, feeling more than seeing the other guy crouching near him. Sure would be nice to have working night vision, but instead he's stuck with his normal 20/20 that was fine back on the force, but suddenly seems like it's inadequate in the Arena. "Anything, brok - uh, anything leaking?"

Alex has a feeling that if he's as hurt as Clara said, he probably doesn't have too many bones left to break. Same goes with crushed nerves and severed arteries.

Actually you know what, he's glad it's this side of pitch black down here. He's hoping the other guy can't see the look on his face right now.

There's another of those weighty pauses as Bucky moves closer, stepping carefully in the darkness. "Can't exactly tell," he finally says. "I'm not a mechanic, and it's dark. In case you hadn't noticed."

He starts to move away again, trying to find the outline of the beam that's pinning Alex down. "Aha." His hands settle on the beam, then shift a little as he finds a place where it's a little easier to lift. "You ready? I'm going to try to lift this thing off you."

Good point.

"Yeah, I'm ready." Alex braces himself, hoping that if this rig's protected him so far, it'll keep doing what it's doing. He's banking on the idea that if this guy wanted to kill him, all he had to do was keep on walking and leave his sorry butt stuck down here. "On three."

"All right. One--two--" He braces himself. "Three." And he lifts.

It takes him a few more moments than he's used to. If he were at full power, if his left arm was working properly, he'd be able to left this thing almost effortlessly. As it is, he strains and breathes hard for a few seconds before it finally lifts and he manages to swing it over to the side where it can't do any more damage.

"Can you get up now, pal?"

There's a scrapping noise, something along the back of Alex's spine clicking and not in that I-screwed-up-my-shoulder-skiiing way, either. Alex stands up to his full height, turning to face his rescuer, surprised he actually went and saved him. He can't help the little suspicious surge, though, because he knows what they say about things seeming too good to be true.

"I'm good. Thanks again," Alex pats himself down, stopping fast when he hears his armor clanging instead of just palm hitting clothes. He drops his hands. "How'd you even lift that? You in the Olympics or something?"

He's joking (mostly).

"Not exactly." Bucky's grinning now, warily. He's a little tense, unsure if he's looking at a potential ally or a threat. He may have just saved the other man, but who knows how he'll take that? He could just see it as an opportunity. "I'm--"

It seems almost harmless, to introduce himself as a superhero. It's not like this is his world, where he's in the shadows again. And he wouldn't say that he used to be Captain America, of course; that's giving away too much. And yet, how can he call himself a superhero when he's stuck in an Arena expected to fight to the death?

"I'm in real good shape. I get into a lot of fights back home." He glances around. "Not usually in places like this, though."

Alex suspects he doesn't want to see the other guys, if that's the case. Actually, he starts to wonder if those are the kind of fights he would've had to break up back in Detroit. At this point, he's so grateful he's not even gonna ask.

"Wish I could say where we are," Alex feels like he's treading a line here, dropping that "we" like he trusts this guy. "I don't know 'bout you, but I'm not a fan of hanging out here longer than I have to."

It's dark and cramped and the building keeps making strange noises like the rest of it wants to collapse on top of them.

Edited 2014-07-17 08:53 (UTC)

"Wish I could say a lot of things I can't say here," is Bucky's slightly wry response. He glances away, off into the darkness, wondering just where the cameras are, just how they're being recorded. But there's no point in thinking too much on it. "But you're right. Let's get the hell out of this place."

He gingerly pushes a less dangerous-looking beam into a slant, so that they both have an easier way of getting out of the pit, and breathes a short sigh of relief when nothing else falls over as a result. He takes a few steps up to test it, then holds out his gloved left hand to help the other man up. "Come on."

A pause. "By the way. I'm Bucky Barnes. I'm going to try to help people here."

What he doesn't say: I'm not interested in playing this game the way they want me to. But it's clear enough.

Alex almost starts to say maybe he shouldn't offer a hand like that because he's pretty sure he weighs as much as a car now. After a moment, he accepts the hand, bracing himself to try to take as much weight as possible so Bucky doesn't throw out his back hauling his graphene butt out of here. He lurches up after Bucky, the beam groaning under his weight. Just like that, they're both free and above ground.

"Detective Alex Murphy," Alex likes the sound of Bucky already. He's not just blowing hot air, he actually did go out of his way to help him out, so color him convinced. "Wish there were more people like you out there."

He means it, too. Alex jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

"Better get back to my friends. See you around."

He pivots and heads down the road, glancing over his shoulder before the fog sweeps in.

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BUCKY BARNES

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thread wrap soon?

sounds good

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