The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-06-16 08:34 pm
carnagecarnival) wrote in thearena2015-06-16 08:34 pm
Entry tags:
Don't you break I will not let you
Who| A lowly Avox and you?
What| servitude!
Where| In the dining hall of the castle
When| Wednesdays only from dawn to dusk. (2nd, 3rd, 4th weeks so far)
Warnings/Notes| Avoxing references, naturally.
A
He prepares a feast that he cannot partake in. The arena began and immediately they lot of them were tasked with making the massive meal at fast a pace as possible. Despite the enormity of the task, it's still far from the worst or biggest thing any of those in their collective have done.
There is no fear of entering the arenas, possibly perishing there, when every moment alive is something of fear, but he knows in those who are able, there is no doubt a wonder. The last time Avoxes were let into the arena, many of them had not come out. He can remember the ringing of the explosion and the carnage of the corpses. He knows even if a Tribute were to set a trap once more here, none of them would do anything to stop it.
Fear of disobedience remains ever closer, far more powerful. It means after hours of standing perfectly still against the wall, a living statue, he will dive ahead at any sign of spill or mess to clean and serve.
B
The world of this arena is, for the most part, a gloomy one. He doesn't mind the dark, it all being easier on him as a troll, and for slipping into the shadow as an avox. But when the light peak through one of the high stained glass windows at one point, he blinks, breaking the character of being perfectly still. His head lifts up, and though it isn't kind on his eyes to look so direct into it, he cannot help himself.
The light shines through in visible beams and within them the dust dances like a million little stars. Its a slow waltz over all their heads, filling the dining hall with life without even meaning to. When he breathes, he can see them swirl faster before his eyes. The colors of the glass paint those little stars, and fill in all the greys with color; stone, clothing, his skin as well.
Nobody else seems to have noticed this rapturous sight, though he notices one of the newer made avoxes (new enough not to have fallen too far yet into the eternal pattern, but old enough that his first conditioning is fresh... something that will change soon,) glancing at him. There's the ghost of curiosity in that look, though to anyone but an avox the expression is as dull and empty as could be. Away he looks and he lifts a hand just an inch two out and up, swishing the air and it's dust. There's a breath of ease, and then the faintest sharper one as a Tribute enters their midst.
C
Overtime in the day of the third week, the rain of fish and frogs had sounded like marching in his ears, or like a hundred lashings befalling the earth below. It was a small mercy that they were not ordered to serve outside in that for he's sure many of the Gamemakers would have little care for a non-person. Except for Sigma that is. He can't imagine Sigma had condoned this at all, and if he had he would've only done so due to a strong-arm of his position and even his life, or the smaller risk. Sigma would've rather had him nearer, serving the coffees and teas and keeping him so busy he would have nowhere else to be. But it's only one day per week, so he'd overheard.
The "rain" sapped the light. But even as it was, each day, as dark approaches nearer, he begins to note that even the most well trained of the Avoxes start straining to see. He opts to be their eyes, no ulterior reason, just that if they fail, then they all fail together and their very function depend upon success. It means he's watching extra close, in case there's anything to trip over, any bit that needs cleaning, that the others won't spot. He can't do anything for them whilst a Tribute is here, but if he catches things before they show, it's fine. No one will be watching them on camera and no one cared if Avoxes did a little more than the norm of what they did for Tributes behind closed doors, even if that "more" is still "not much".
He can tell on his own when dusk has finally arrived for he feels more awake than he has all day, while his fellow Avoxes fight hard against exhaustion. Finally, it is time to clear the table away, and there is rush to do so that would leave one debating whether it was mere efficiency or desperate desire to rest and be done. But as is wont of any place serving food, there are stragglers, those who arrive late to the banquet hoping for scraps at the least. He debates, but not for long. He brings the food and drink he'd intended to cart off to the closest available chair for the arrival, laying it down neat and stepping back.
As the weeks go on, the amount of food available becomes less and less. He does not need to be a Tribute to read the signs.
What| servitude!
Where| In the dining hall of the castle
When| Wednesdays only from dawn to dusk. (2nd, 3rd, 4th weeks so far)
Warnings/Notes| Avoxing references, naturally.
A
He prepares a feast that he cannot partake in. The arena began and immediately they lot of them were tasked with making the massive meal at fast a pace as possible. Despite the enormity of the task, it's still far from the worst or biggest thing any of those in their collective have done.
There is no fear of entering the arenas, possibly perishing there, when every moment alive is something of fear, but he knows in those who are able, there is no doubt a wonder. The last time Avoxes were let into the arena, many of them had not come out. He can remember the ringing of the explosion and the carnage of the corpses. He knows even if a Tribute were to set a trap once more here, none of them would do anything to stop it.
Fear of disobedience remains ever closer, far more powerful. It means after hours of standing perfectly still against the wall, a living statue, he will dive ahead at any sign of spill or mess to clean and serve.
B
The world of this arena is, for the most part, a gloomy one. He doesn't mind the dark, it all being easier on him as a troll, and for slipping into the shadow as an avox. But when the light peak through one of the high stained glass windows at one point, he blinks, breaking the character of being perfectly still. His head lifts up, and though it isn't kind on his eyes to look so direct into it, he cannot help himself.
The light shines through in visible beams and within them the dust dances like a million little stars. Its a slow waltz over all their heads, filling the dining hall with life without even meaning to. When he breathes, he can see them swirl faster before his eyes. The colors of the glass paint those little stars, and fill in all the greys with color; stone, clothing, his skin as well.
Nobody else seems to have noticed this rapturous sight, though he notices one of the newer made avoxes (new enough not to have fallen too far yet into the eternal pattern, but old enough that his first conditioning is fresh... something that will change soon,) glancing at him. There's the ghost of curiosity in that look, though to anyone but an avox the expression is as dull and empty as could be. Away he looks and he lifts a hand just an inch two out and up, swishing the air and it's dust. There's a breath of ease, and then the faintest sharper one as a Tribute enters their midst.
C
Overtime in the day of the third week, the rain of fish and frogs had sounded like marching in his ears, or like a hundred lashings befalling the earth below. It was a small mercy that they were not ordered to serve outside in that for he's sure many of the Gamemakers would have little care for a non-person. Except for Sigma that is. He can't imagine Sigma had condoned this at all, and if he had he would've only done so due to a strong-arm of his position and even his life, or the smaller risk. Sigma would've rather had him nearer, serving the coffees and teas and keeping him so busy he would have nowhere else to be. But it's only one day per week, so he'd overheard.
The "rain" sapped the light. But even as it was, each day, as dark approaches nearer, he begins to note that even the most well trained of the Avoxes start straining to see. He opts to be their eyes, no ulterior reason, just that if they fail, then they all fail together and their very function depend upon success. It means he's watching extra close, in case there's anything to trip over, any bit that needs cleaning, that the others won't spot. He can't do anything for them whilst a Tribute is here, but if he catches things before they show, it's fine. No one will be watching them on camera and no one cared if Avoxes did a little more than the norm of what they did for Tributes behind closed doors, even if that "more" is still "not much".
He can tell on his own when dusk has finally arrived for he feels more awake than he has all day, while his fellow Avoxes fight hard against exhaustion. Finally, it is time to clear the table away, and there is rush to do so that would leave one debating whether it was mere efficiency or desperate desire to rest and be done. But as is wont of any place serving food, there are stragglers, those who arrive late to the banquet hoping for scraps at the least. He debates, but not for long. He brings the food and drink he'd intended to cart off to the closest available chair for the arrival, laying it down neat and stepping back.
As the weeks go on, the amount of food available becomes less and less. He does not need to be a Tribute to read the signs.
no subject
Psii's monk robes had taken a beating, ripped from his lightning strike and later covered in dust. He figured the rags would help camouflage him as they crept across the grass.
"No, Sam, for the latht time, you are not carrying me. Pretending to be lame when I'm already blind ithn't thexthy. We're almotht there anyway."
In truth, he'd feel embarrassed to be carried. Troll invalids were usually culled, since the belief was they'd die sooner than later anyway. Psii's legs worked perfectly fine, even if he stumbled over a rock or twenty. If Sam carried him, he might die of mortification and never be able to face him again.
no subject
His own wizard robe has long since discarded, turned into bandages, but he'd found a replacement outfit in one of the closets of the castle rooms. Not exactly his style, but at least he wasn't tripping all over himself in it.
Which means he could totally carry Psii up to the feast, but given Psii's likely discomfort with it, he's not really pushing. That's not going to stop him from teasing about it, though.
"Why do you keep spurning my romantic gestures, huh? Just think of how impressive it'd be, me carrying you in to a magnificent feast."
no subject
"It'th not thexthy! How can you be attracted to an invalid? Humanth are fucking weird. Ithn't there thome other courtship ritual--"
Bristling at Sam meant he wasn't watching how his feet felt the ground. His foot stubbed on a rock, but Psii knew enough to keep whatever rude word he'd have shouted down to a hiss. They were still in the danger zone. He grit his teeth and rubbed his toe. He'd escaped his lightning strike with only one shoe.
"Ok, if nothing hath eaten uth by now, we should be relatively thafe. Carry on, human. Hoitht me up like an unattractive thack of dirt tuberth and let'th get on with thith embarrathing shitshow. God, my foot hurtth."
no subject
“Nah, man, it’s not about you being an invalid. It’s about me knowing you’re way more than capable of zapping the hell out of anything that comes after us and you letting me help you out the best way I can, anyway.”
He rests a hand on Psii’s shoulder for a moment, giving it a squeeze before he crouches down to sweep Psii up into his arms.
“You protect my ass and I’ll protect your toes, all right?” he asks, and then grins a little. “Besides, how the hell else am I supposed to show off how much work I put into my biceps, huh?”
no subject
"My toeth thank you. I hope, for your thake, that the camerath are getting an eyeful. Wouldn't want your effortth to go to wathte, would we?"
He fumbled around and drew out a piece of paper, the kind sent with sponsor packages. He'd also received a stack of Celebrus with it, but he didn't care much about reading that now.
"Before we go in and pothibly get ourthelveth killed by hungry hordeth, can I athk a favor? I got thith along with thome thupplieth, but I have no idea who it'th from or what it thayth. Can you find uth thome cover and read it to me?"
no subject
"The cameras are always getting an eyeful." His amused grin doesn't fade, but there's something softer in his voice. As close as he gets to acknowledging that yeah, the cameras are always watching them and most of what he does is with an awareness of that these days, and it sucks.
But he shakes his head a little, glancing at the paper that Psii pulls yeah. "Yeah, man, of course. Looks like a note, probably from one of your mentors or escort. Dining hall's got a couple of spots we can hide in."
no subject
He wrapped an arm securely around Sam's neck. He wasn't ready to be unceremoniously dropped like a sack of dirt tubers until they were safely inside.
"If you think it'th not thafe enough to read out here, then we'll brave the cathtle firtht. I wouldn't know, obviouthly. Man, being blind ith a fucking drag.... Open the door and tell me where to shoot."