[benny hill theme intensifies]

[youbarium]

Who| Carlos + anyone in the Arena!
What| Catch-all post for Carlos in weeks 1 + 2! The Gamemakers are trying to kill him, so he's encountering all kinds of nasty beasts and horrible monsters that always seem to find him. If you want to run into him during the superspecial hell arena, there's a prompt for that! Watch this space for week 3 edits.
Where| All over the arena. Seriously, he's on the run from horrible monsters and will be roaming around everywhere. Specific locations are in the comments, but if none of the prompts strike your fancy or you want Carlos to stumble on you, just specify where you are in your reply.
When| Weeks 1 + 2 for now
Warnings/Notes| Horror? Monsters? Gore? Dark humor? Welcome to Night Vale.
Also! All prompts but the first one involve him in a situation where Carlos could use a rescue. However, if your character would try to kill him, feel free to tag into this as well, since the Gamemakers might very well try to steer more murderous characters towards Carlos. I do want him to survive/escape since his death is planned already, but you are 100% free to injure him!


Carlos didn't know what was going on. His first few days in the Arena had been, well, almost normal. They had gone as well as could be expected: he had gotten his hands on a lab coat, gotten some chemicals from old houses, stripped some cars, and had fashioned some makeshift weapons. Carlos knew better than to hole up in a house permanently; last Arena, he and the others had been punished for not being exciting enough, and Carlos's life was riding on putting on a good show. Therefore, Carlos had fashioned traps that he could carry with him during the day and set around his camp at night. It had been a lovely system, painful but nonlethal, and Carlos had had an exciting encounter or two that would probably up the drama.

So what if the monsters seemed to have an uncanny sense of where he was? It wasn't so bad. Carlos could outrun them. He had a lot of experience in doing that. He had also received his share of sponsor gifts, all of which had made the week infinitely easier, and the note from Cecil was folded up and securely tucked into the pocket of his D10 jacket where it wouldn't come loose and fly away as he was fleeing spiders or dogs or shambling monsters.

And so what if cracks had begun to appear uncannily close to him? Cracks appeared in the ground all the time -- it was one of this Arena's hazards. They always made a sound, and he rapidly learned to jump to steadier ground -- not to mention stick to landmarks and important features of the Arena that the Gamemakers wouldn't want to destroy.

It wasn't until the third building in a row nearly collapsed on him that Carlos began to suspect. None of the other houses were collapsing, and the one he had been in had shown no signs of structural weakness. He'd checked.

The cloud of poison-gas confirmed it, Carlos thought as he ran through the town, lab coat held up over his mouth to shield his lungs from the toxic green vapor: the Gamemakers were definitely trying to kill him. This confirmed Carlos's fear -- that his act of dissent in Ian's rescue meant that the Capitol was through with him and intended to kill him as quickly and quietly as possible, with no chance of resurrection. It only filled him with more determination to stay alive.

By the time the air raid sirens went off, Carlos had given up going in houses at all, since if they didn't collapse right away, they were invariably full of spiders waiting to drop on him from the ceiling. He had given up leaving town, since cracks would open up under his feet. And he had given up on getting more than a few hours' sleep at a time.

Comments

[youbarium]

Carlos's head is swimming -- he can't tell if it's from the blood loss, organ damage, or a concussion. He realizes, though, that he has only minutes left to live. Dave is wrong: there is no fixing this. He is going to die.

He has failed, and he is going to die.

This is it.

There's no coming back. Carlos clearly hasn't convinced the Capitol that he regrets his disobedience. He has not managed to show them that he wants to be here, that he is entertaining enough to be worth keeping around. All this runs through Carlos's head as he lies there on his back, on the ground, as his blood seeps out of his body.

He knows he has only moments. He knows there is one thing left that he can try.

"No," Carlos croaks out, and his hand reaches out -- looking to take hold of Dave by the hand, or by the wrist. "It's too late." This was going to happen one way or another, he feels; everyone dies, sooner or later. Tributes just happen to die more than once. "Listen. I don't know if I'm coming back. There is very strong evidence that suggests that I am not. So I need you to pass a message on, for me."

He's doing this. Oh, god, he's doing this. Carlos knows, of course, that all of this may or may not be on Capitol cameras. If the Capitol has decided not to televise his death, then this last-ditch attempt was fruitless. However, if Dave, who had a much greater chance of being revived, passed what Carlos was about to say on to the rest of the Capitol, then Carlos could circumvent the lack of publicity and still get the citizens on his side.

And if the Capitol was watching? All the better.

[shenunigans]

While Carlos's head is swimming, Dave's is going a mile a minute. It's not like it's the first time he's seen someone impaled or close to death before, but this is different. Partly because it's not alternate versions of himself this time, partly because of what Carlos told him before he didn't heed his warning. He's trying to remember everything he learned in first aid. Deep breathing, water, hot towels, what. None of it really seems to apply to impalement and he's trying to think of where he'd even find water when Carlos grabs his hand.

In a situation like this, most people would squeeze back comfortingly or put their other hand in for some more support. Dave? Well. His arm is just kind of hanging limply as he stares down at the beautiful scientist. "Yeah, alright." He responds curtly, nodding his head in understanding. He could be saying so much more, he could be doing so much more, but hell if he can think of anything. If Carlos has a job for him, the best thing he can do is shut the fuck up and listen in order to carry it out.

The drama of it all is disturbing, but this is all, to his understanding televised. He hasn't even imagined for a second that Carlos might be playing to that, but his teen rebellion objective is to give them as little to work with as possible so they'll get bored of him. It only just occurs to him that if he puts on a good show, they might decide Carlos is interesting enough to bring in for another round.

With that in mind, he's finally gripping back, cupping Carlos's hand with both of his and moving to kneel alongside him. "Lay it on me, home slice." His voice is a broken whisper, as if the emotions are just too much to keep it steady. This is a fucking embarrassment, but he doesn't want a lack of commitment to be the reason this weirdo dies forever.

[youbarium]

"I need you to tell Cecil Palmer that--" and here the words stick in Carlos's throat, and he sighs, and when he goes on, the words carry a tone of helplessness, "--that...I love him."

There. He had done it. There is no taking the words back now: they are on camera for the Capitol to see, and for Dave to pass on. If Carlos wakes up from this, there will be uncomfortable consequences, he knows. The words are not true, even as he says them: how he feels about Cecil Palmer is a tangled, half-examined mess that is much more complicated than love. However, if he did not say this, he feels sure he would have no hope of waking up at all.

The edges of Carlos's vision are going dark. Breathing is growing more difficult, and the deep chill of the arena feels like it has sunk into every cell of his body. Staying conscious, he notes, is growing harder and harder...

[shenunigans]

Dave is forcing his mind to slow down a minute now that he has something he needs to remember, he's hanging on every word as Carlos says it, even if it doesn't really make sense to him. Who the hell is Cecil, is his first thought, but he's sure he can figure that out. This guy loves him, Cecil. Dave needs to tell Cecil that this guy loves him. But who is this guy? It seems rude to ask at this point, oh crap.

"Y-yeah. I can do that." He stutters just from the pure, unadulterated awkward bucket of water he feels dumped over himself. As if this weren't horribly traumatic enough, the man is dying and Dave doesn't know who he is. It's sad, really fucking sad, the best he can do is make sure this guy knows his message will be passed on.

"Cecil is gonna know. I promise." He nods, to prove his point. "So you can rest easy." Is that what you say to a dying person? He hopes he isn't being cliche and offending him.

[youbarium]

"Thank you," says Carlos, quieter -- fainter. "Make sure he knows. It's very important--" because it might save my life.

His breaths come slower, weaker, as the blood that had formerly been in his heart and veins keeping him alive seeps out onto the floorboards. Carlos's eyes fall half-closed and the world swims around him.

He has done everything he can. There's nothing left to do but wait.

Unconsciousness settles on Carlos slowly, gently replacing conscious thought with nothingness and void. His breathing slows, and then stops. The last moment in which Carlos is alive and the first moment in which he is dead are functionally identical; nothing about the house changes, nor anything in the town, or the courses of the stars. Even the indifferent moon is just as it was before: stark. Serene. Airless.

All is cold, and quiet.

--until a barking dog crashes through the door to the house and runs straight for Carlos. Opening its wide, feral maw, it ignores Dave completely, and grabs Carlos's lifeless mortal coil by the ankle. The dog shuffles backwards out the door, dragging Carlos with it. The piece of wood in Carlos's gut catches on the edges of the floorboards with a sick thunk-thunk-thunk. The dog's growls are a long roll of thunder, and when it is outside they are joined by the barks of several other dogs. There is a ripping sound, like tearing cloth, and a wetter ripping sound, like tearing into a steak.

Probably best not to look outside.

[shenunigans]

"Of course it's important, you're saying it on your death bed.. Stair." He blurts out, mostly in an attempt to convey his understanding. Instead? He feels a bit like an ass. Sometimes you don't have to use your words, Dave. Not that it matters right now anyway, if he's lucky, the stranger has faded into the fuzzy world of death before he heard Dave fuck up like that. God he needs to remember his name. There'd been a video on him, hadn't there? He'd heard whispers of it before. Curly? Carny? Curtis? Curtis sounds right. There's a strange sort of peace to it, despite how horrible it had been, it's just nice to know the guy isn't suffering. He tries hard not to think about the fact that he might not come back, nor that it might somehow be his fault, he chooses to focus on the task he's been given.

He won't leave him just yet, just to be sure, he doesn't want to be feeling around for a pulse when the guy is trying to die. He's about ready to go check on Elsa when the dogs burst into the room and he lets out a yelp of surprise, pushing himself back up the stairs and panicking because he's unarmed. For some reason, they don't even seem to realise he's there. They have a single minded task and it just happens to be Carlos.

"Ey, ey! Bad dog, bad dog!" He uses his best stern pet-owner voice, but it continues to ignore him. His heart goes out to Carlos, but he's dead. He can't go chasing massive dogs willy nilly when he's lucky enough to be unacknowledged by them. He cringes at the sounds of the attack, turning to run up the stairs, almost tripping over himself as he does.

He wants to forget everything that happened, everything but one thing. Curtis loves Cecil.