thearena | Welcome To Arena 08

Welcome To Arena 08

Today begins particularly early by normal standards. Long before the sun, or even a hint of dawn arrives. When the world is still and black and quiet, save for the parties still raging on from the night before. Night owls still have not gone to sleep. Everyone knows what today is, even if you've only just arrived.

There is a palpable tension in the air as everyone is ushered out under the cover of darkness to board the hovercrafts. A stream of faces both familiar and unknown filter in and take their seats, and very little is said as tributes are strapped in and attendants make their rounds, activating tracking devices. There are no windows, no openings no view of the outside world as it passes silently, below. The journey takes hours. And when everyone finally arrives, there is no hint of sky or grass or cloud or tree. Just long concrete hallways and rows of uniformed peacekeepers that remind everyone to keep in line in the underbelly of the unknown.

One by one, each tribute is lead into a small concrete room where stylists outfit tributes in their only bit of protection for the next coming weeks. Little is given away by the clothing each stylists put their tribute in. No flair or flourish or costumed monstrosity this time. Just simple, functional mundane civilian clothing. Khakis, cotton shirts, boots.

There is little time to dress and say goodbyes. Only a few small moments left to gather your thoughts. And then, the countdown starts. A countdown displayed in holographic blue begins:

25. 24. 23. 22....

The smell of earth and grass and a general damp green fills your lungs as you rise, slowly into a large grass field. At first, its the only thing you can see in all directions until the pedestal locks in place.

20. 19. 18. 17....

In the near distance, the cornucopia looms. Massive. Copper. Even hidden by the grass you can see its spoils are plentiful, tempting anyone with even a mild curiosity streak to come explore. Some may see this as a warning sign already .

15. 14. 13...

You can see the others, around you. Their heads, maybe the shoulders of taller tributes, and very little else. If there is anything hidden in this field you would never know it. The grass is too tall and too thick to show what might be lurking near the ground.

10. 9. 8....

There is just a hint of a breeze and the lingering scent of recent rain. The humidity is more uncomfortable than the heat., its a thick, jungle-like warm. You can see a dense tangle of trees in the distance. Blue sky filled with towering white clouds. Its the sort of place where nothing ever truly seems to be dry. At least you might not have to worry about freezing to death.

6. 5. 4...

For just a moment, everything goes perfectly still. Perfectly silent.

The grass rustles.

You feel the breeze.

2.

1.

0.

You will have two hours until a short warning alarm will sound and the sonic fences turn on across the entire arena.

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And then there was this guy.

Suddenly he was running side by side with her, without warning. Not on purpose. That was just what the grass ended up. But he was there, now, mere inches away.

He turned, giving her a single look. Maybe even a glare. Something Eponine was free to interpret however she wanted.

She interprets that as 'the end'.

Oh thank heavens it'll be swift.

For a moment, she carries on running, but she soon stops, and looks across to Don.

"Do it." Her voice is slurred from alcohol, stuffy with the flu.
"Kill me, Monsieur."

At this, Don also stopped, frowning more.

"I thought you didn't want me to come near you."

"Well now I find I have had enough being alive, Sir. Is it so hard to believe?"

Eponine laughs bitterly, and moves close to Don, close enough to touch, close enough to goad him on.

"I'm not afraid of you - kill me. Go on, do it. Do it now, Sir, please!"

She wanted to die? Very well. Even though they were right by the Cornucopia, and he needed supplies more than he needed to go on another rampage. But on the other hand, there was no one in that part of it. No one he could see or hear, and she was begging him to kill her. Hypocritical of her, after everything, but...

So he gave her one more look, doing his best not to wince at the smell of booze on her breath.

"Fine. If that's what you really want. But in a moment. I need supplies."

He leaped over to the bounty, and with quickness, he grabbed up a sizable amount of goods. Enough to last him weeks. And a knife. However, he didn't intend to stab her with it. He intended to do it cleanly and quickly, with no blood. A neck snap. That was all.

~~He could at least give her that much.~~

So he sheathed his knife, and began to advance on her.

Edited 2013-10-21 02:45 (UTC)

There's an ugly shriek of laughter and the knife is gone: the unpleasant sound of a knife scraping against turtle shell follows and then a dark figure--a woman, a black woman, much too low to the ground for comfort--darts forward and pulls Don's hunting knife though Eponine's thigh, hamstringing her.

"Say thankya fo' the knife, greenmeat," the woman calls back to him.

Eponine, having waited for death with her eyes closed, didn't even see it coming. Instead, there's a burning in her thigh and suddenly her leg doesn't wan't to hold her weight, and she topples with an unearthly scream. On the floor, she forces herself to sit up, to look at her blood drenched thigh. She sobs, clutching her wound where blood seeps from the deep gash, soaking her slit shorts.

"You said you'd kill me."

She screams with uncontrolled anger at Don. "YOU SAID-"

She's shaking, pain taking over her. "MONSIEUR WESKER! Please!! Send me the device I stole. Please, please, Monsieur. I'll do what you want!"

She hopes the Gamemakers broadcast her injury. She hopes Wesker sees. She hopes someone puts her out of this indescribable pain; even on instinct, she knows she won't be walking in this arena again without intervention. She'd rather find another way to die than wait for it to find her here in the grass.

Oh, son of a--thankfully, the knife didn't break through the shell. But this? This wasn't how he'd meant to do it.

It was supposed to be him! Just a neck snap!

"That wasn't me!"

Don doesn't even hesitate. First, he leaps over Eponine. Then, he goes to grab Susannah. He'd get his knife back.

Then, he'd figure out what to do with Eponine.

Edited 2013-10-21 22:03 (UTC)

Sorry, Don, Susannah's more of a passenger right now. It's Detta Walker he's chasing after, Detta who has his knife clenched between her teeth and is currently crawling away nearly as quickly as Donatello can run.

Nearly being the operative word.

Once Donatello begins to close in on her, Detta sits back on her haunches, twists around and takes the knife in hand. "Dis whatchu want, greenmeat?" she cackles. "You goan have to catch it."

Then she flings the knife, hard, into the grass away from her and goes back to her entirely-too-swift way of crawling.

So what's it gonna be, Donatello? The girl or the weapon?

Oh shell no. He wasn't playing that game. His eyes trailed the trajectory of the knife for a second. But it was all he needed.

He charged forward, towards Detta, his hand lunging towards where her nape of her neck met her back, near the spine. Sufficient pressure on there would render her unable to fight back efficiently.

"I don't think so."

She remained where she was, swaying slightly on the spot, as she waited for Don. For death. This time, she welcomed the dark embrace, the respite from the rest of the world, and her horribly painful memories of Howard.

As Don advanced on her, she opened her eyes again.

"Do you think they'll let me go?"

It was a plea to any GameMakers listening. Please. Please let her go. Please let her die.

It's several minutes before the heavy grass parts in front of Eponine. Eva almost trips over her.

"Eponine!" At first Eva thinks Eponine is dead - the girl hasn't even tried to staunch the blood spilling from the back of her leg, hasn't lifted her head from the crushed reeds beneath her. For a second Eva almost turns and runs, counts this as another loss, but the need to catch her breath, as much as her protectiveness for Eponine, force her to stop and investigate.

She crouches down, shoulders shaking with exertion, spear resting against the side of her neck as she checks Eponine's pulse, sees the recognition in the girl's eyes, looks at the wound enough to see that the femoral artery wasn't severed.

"Hold this," she says, placing the spear in Eponine's hand and gathering the girl up like laundry into her arms. "Look over my shoulder. See anyone coming from behind, scream and hit them with it."

And she lifts.

"Am I dead, Madame?"

Eponine clutches the spear Eva gives her almost without realising she's holding on at all. Instead, she turns her face against Eva's chest, sobbing into the woman's t-shirt. She can't imagine what Eva is doing in the arena - how she is there. Oh! But how glad Eponine is to see her. Her whole body trembles from the pain; she shrieks as Eva lifts her.

"Do I dream? Am I mad? Eva, do you hold me? Please - please leave me to die."

"Watch my back!" Eva hisses, staggering through the grass in the way she knows is away from the chaos. Once they find a more secluded area, she can tend to Eponine's wound. She can feel the hot blood seeping into her own clothing.

She's too old for this. She falls to one knee then gets up again, thankful that Eponine is so slender and light.

"I'm not leaving you."

"EVA!" Eponine shouts as Eva stumbles, half-terrified that Eva is injured. Now that is a death that Eponine could not have on her conscience. She tries to jam the spear into the earth, to pull both of them upright, but between the flu and her injury, for she's losing blood as well, and her own lack of physical strength, she can't do it.

"I'll walk. Madame, Eva! I'll walk. You must save yourself. Don't die on me. Please don't die. Please!"

"Your leg's been cut open, you can't walk," Eva says sternly. "Hold on around my neck."

She crouches, keeping Eponine's meager weight balanced on her knees, and grabs another spear off the ground. She can use that as a walking stick.

"We'll get you to the trees. Just stay still and imagine yourself a feather."

Eponine does as she's told, forcing herself to stiffen against Eva, even though it causes her to groan. But she buries her face in Eva's shoulder, trying her best to muffle the sound, though her bottom teeth dig into poor Eva's flesh.

She clings on, trying her best to be light - luckily, Howard has rather destroyed her appetite for anything that isn't brandy over the last few days.
But after a minute, she hisses into Eva's ear,

"Leave me, Madame. Leave me to die. Please."

"Over my dead body," she says, making sure not to let any of the exertion leak into her voice. And she and Eponine disappear into the trees.

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Welcome To Arena 08

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