Panem Events (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
etcircenses) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-01-18 02:35 pm
etcircenses) wrote in thearena2014-01-18 02:35 pm
Entry tags:
- ! arena 09,
- aunamee,
- cassandra marko,
- commander shepard,
- harley quinn,
- joan watson,
- karkat vantas,
- matthew "punchy" o'connor,
- sigma klim,
- terezi pyrope,
- the grand highblood,
- the signless,
- wyatt earp,
- ✘ barbara gordon,
- ✘ beck,
- ✘ brainiac 5,
- ✘ carlos the scientist,
- ✘ cinderella,
- ✘ courfeyrac,
- ✘ cuthbert allgood,
- ✘ danny fenton,
- ✘ deanna winchester,
- ✘ diana ladris,
- ✘ donatello,
- ✘ dr. holiday,
- ✘ eliot spencer,
- ✘ ellie,
- ✘ eponine thenardier,
- ✘ eren,
- ✘ gabriel,
- ✘ garrus vakarian,
- ✘ hans,
- ✘ hawkeye pierce,
- ✘ homura akemi,
- ✘ howard bassem,
- ✘ ian chesterton,
- ✘ ian gallagher,
- ✘ iskierka,
- ✘ jean kirschtein,
- ✘ john watson,
- ✘ julian bashir,
- ✘ justin law,
- ✘ kain highwind,
- ✘ kankri vantas,
- ✘ kili,
- ✘ leonard mccoy,
- ✘ lindsey mcdonald,
- ✘ max guevara,
- ✘ mindy macready,
- ✘ mouse,
- ✘ nepeta leijon,
- ✘ orc,
- ✘ perry kelvin,
- ✘ pruna,
- ✘ r,
- ✘ rat,
- ✘ ruby lucas,
- ✘ sam winchester,
- ✘ sherlock holmes (bbc),
- ✘ shion,
- ✘ some ovmennet,
- ✘ starkiller,
- ✘ subaru sumeragi,
- ✘ susannah dean,
- ✘ the disciple,
- ✘ venus dee milo,
- ✘ willow,
- ✘ zelos wilder
ARENA 09 - THE MUSEUM
The Tributes are woken up early for this Arena, and switched from whatever sleeping attire they're currently in to a set of pajamas, each designed for the individual in questions. Women wear onesies, and most of the men wear two-pieces, but other than that any similarities are at random - the outfits are in all sorts of colors and patterns.
The floor of the helicopter taking them to their Arena location, and of the underground entrance to the tubes that hoist them to the surface, will feel cold under their bare feet.
Rather than bringing them to sunlight, like the tubes have in the past, instead the Tributes are presented to a dark concrete ceiling in a badly-lit parking lot. Fluorescent lights do little to illuminate the cavernous space.
The countdown begins, announced as if from far away.
20
19
18…
The Cornucopia, a ghastly thing carved from stone and concrete, sits at the center of a pattern of white and yellow lines reminiscent of spots for parked cars. The painted lines create a sort of spoked wheel, providing lanes for the Tributes leading to the prizes at the center. Some of the more unfortunate Tributes will find the concrete architecture has placed pillars in their lanes.
8
7
6…
Six parked cars lie around the outskirts of the huge lot, barely visible in the dim lighting. Glowing exit signs on two opposite sides of the chamber announce where Tributes should go to escape the bloodbath. Elevator doors are perched beneath them.
3
2
1
The gong rings out, and the countdown's voice announces "the Arena is now open". The Games have begun.
The floor of the helicopter taking them to their Arena location, and of the underground entrance to the tubes that hoist them to the surface, will feel cold under their bare feet.
Rather than bringing them to sunlight, like the tubes have in the past, instead the Tributes are presented to a dark concrete ceiling in a badly-lit parking lot. Fluorescent lights do little to illuminate the cavernous space.
The countdown begins, announced as if from far away.
19
18…
The Cornucopia, a ghastly thing carved from stone and concrete, sits at the center of a pattern of white and yellow lines reminiscent of spots for parked cars. The painted lines create a sort of spoked wheel, providing lanes for the Tributes leading to the prizes at the center. Some of the more unfortunate Tributes will find the concrete architecture has placed pillars in their lanes.
7
6…
Six parked cars lie around the outskirts of the huge lot, barely visible in the dim lighting. Glowing exit signs on two opposite sides of the chamber announce where Tributes should go to escape the bloodbath. Elevator doors are perched beneath them.
2
1
The gong rings out, and the countdown's voice announces "the Arena is now open". The Games have begun.
Hawkeye Pierce | OTA
Underwear, and a red bathrobe.
It had been a security blanket back in his previous hell- why couldn't it be one here? He had called the stylists names he had never before thought up, and in the end they threw the two piece costume to the floor in frustration and just gave him his robe. He had cackled like mad. He had tugged at the fabric belt until it seemed it made his ribs sore. He had asked about shoes and then wondered if he'd die sleeping on a beautiful king sized mattress, surrounded by beautiful women. Or the corpses of. And when he had to be pushed into the small little tube that delivered tributes to the above-ground, to the arena, he felt like maybe he hadn't been so wrong that first time, thinking the capsule frightened him more than whatever came next. By the time he's released on the pedestal (fall and explode, right? that was a good offer, right?), Hawkeye looks like maybe he hasn't slept in weeks, like maybe he decided to try and tear hair out for the past days. It wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. And the very first thing he does is stomp his feet for the sake of feeling something combat the marching nerves. His skin didn't feel like his own. There wasn't any room for his own skin to fit in. The ceiling was too low. The bodies were too close. There wasn't enough air, he couldn't breathe. This wasn't fair!
He fidgeted with the belt and belt loops, and felt like the hairs on his legs were crawling.
There were people like him all around. Hawkeye just couldn't make out the faces, no matter how hard he tried.
He moved. He stomped. He shuddered. He whined. This wasn't fair. He couldn't stand still. How could anybody? They were all insane. He raised his hands and scratched at his head with fury. He raised his hands at the spoils ahead, the goods he knew someone would die for, and shouted, at the top of his lungs, "Don't do it!" But the stupid fucks would do it anyway, he knew. There was a countdown that was drowning out all voices. "It's a trap!" And his skin was crawling and his lungs were on fire from the lack of air, dear God. Dear God help them all.
15-
"You all look lovely."
12-
"You wouldn't want to ruin your hair. It's beautiful."
7-
"Nuh-no. Nuh-no. Not me. You're not gonna..." It was a weak chuckle, and he wondered vaguely about stepping down. About doing something about that 'no' he kept chanting. But he just loved living too much, even if everyone around him didn't.
He licks his lips, he sucks in a breath, he swallows. And when the timer comes to the end, he just stands there, on the pedestal, and doesn't think he can muster the energy he had already foolishly expended by throwing his fit. Ahead, somebody grabbed a bag. Ahead, somebody grabbed something glistening. There would be bodies-- there were bodies, just moving, just wasting time, just wasting life. And Hawkeye was a doctor first and foremost- panicked and hysterical, second. The preservation of life was this-- this force. So he really had no choice but to move toward the crowd, to try and make sense of everything second, and to try to help who might need it first.
no subject
Her first memory of one had been more on the line of a pest control than an actual medical practitioner. The delousing agent burned in the cuts and scrapes and then it was questions and stern faces and pinpricks with burning syringes— she went out the window, first opportunity. She was tough, she didn't need it. Later, medics and particularly field surgeons much like Hawkeye, became more necessary, but they still weren't people so much as walking towers of judgement. Like gods in white uniforms, telling you how shit you'd been, and never laughing at jokes. It wasn't until Chakwas that she'd made a friend.
Still, that didn't make her intersections with modern medicine any more fun. So maybe there's a little bit of vengeance in the motion when she immediately veers left and shoulder-tackles Hawkeye off his feet, and keeps going. Or maybe she's just like that with everyone. Either way, he'd be better off on the ground than any nearer the slugfest, that's for damn sure.
no subject
And then there's the whole 'you're going to die' thing that keeps playing in his mind like a broken record. It makes him gasp in a breath when it's knocked out of him, and makes him push himself up to his elbows a second later, searching for-- well, that. There. The movement away that had red hair and a figure he figured he knew and Christ, the movement was away. A second more and Hawkeye's scrambling back on his feet, hesitance refound and. Well. Hesitant for the first time in such a deafeningly and heartbreaking short time. But someone ahead just got slashed- he could see the mess alright, you know, and he half thanked the distance for it- and that meant he had to go.
"The matter with-" is all he swears aloud, brows furrowed, face contorted in confusion, before he realizes he'd rather save his breath. It might help his chicken heart, because he wasn't a soldier. He charges forward again, keeping the assailant (and if he thought Shepard had 'assaulted' him just then, wasn't he in for a rude awakening?) in view but far enough away. He hoped. The bitch.