Panem Events (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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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.
Julian Bashir | OTA
His first stop had been the second floor. He'd made a note of the edible plants, taken a few things from the dioramas--including, much to his disgust, a bow and quiver of arrows, and a knife. He wasn't about to kill anyone if he could help it, but he did need a way to defend himself. The gift shop had been somewhat more promising.
He'd grabbed a messenger bag--not quite sure how to feel about the fact that it had a Starfleet Academy patch on it--and filled it with a few water bottles, the small packages of snack food that seemed ubiquitous in gift shops, a sweatshirt, and a few pairs of thick socks. Thus outfitted, he'd returned to the elevator--he'd tried the stairs downstairs, and they'd been locked. His strength, while certainly more than one would expect from looking at him, wasn't sufficient to break down a steel door. Luckily there hadn't been any unpleasant surprises on the other side of the sliding doors.
On the way down, he took a few deep, calming breaths. He wasn't sure what he'd find on the other side--he'd left for a reason, he couldn't help anyone if he'd gotten caught in the initial crossfire. The dead would have been cleared away by now, if the Capitol was as efficient as he thought it was. He couldn't help them anyway. But he could do something for the injured.
As soon as the doors slid open Julian was on the move, cautious for an attack from the shadows and looking for people to help.
no subject
A way out.
Stood to reason that if he didn't want to jump off the top of the building, going down was a good start. Not to mention, those intent on killing had probably holed up somewhere to hunt those who ventured out.
The elevator still worked, though it made too much noise for Sam to be very easy about it. He lingered for a moment after the doors slid open, until no one jumped into the opening to attack. He slipped out as quietly as he could, watchful for movement from the bodies on the floor, but most intent on anything threatening from the corners or a way out.
no subject
Of course, it could mean they were also here to help. Doubtful, but it was possible. He couldn't expect everyone to be stupidly altruistic.
He also didn't exactly plan on threatening anyone, so hopefully they'd just pass by each other.
no subject
Glancing around uneasily, seeing no other movement, Sam dropped to a crouch to see if there was anything he could do. He doubted it very much.
Re: Julian Bashir | OTA
There was an old wive's tale, from far back in the day; the stuff of history; that if you held a candle up in the dark and stared into a mirror in passing, you'd catch a glimpse of the face of your future husband staring back. Hogswash, of course; that was all down to sensory deprivation, the Troxler Effect. So he almost hadn't trusted his own eyes when he'd seen that medical kit, lurking among the items in the Cornucopia...
He'd gone for it. Against better judgement, maybe, but hell if he was going to murder anyone (self-defense was all well and good, but flat-out slaughter? There was a gauzy line between security and barbarism, but that line stuck out for him like a sore thumb...). And if he didn't plan on backstabbing his way to the top, he was going to need the sorts of supplies he could work with, to help people; himself included; through this.
He'd gotten his hands on the med kit. He'd also managed one helluva souvenir from the scuffle; a wound that gutted deep along his calf, making him slow. The medical kit, as it turned out, was archaic; enough to disinfect and bandage himself up with, when he'd gotten down to a lower floor. But he was going to be carrying a hefty limp now, and the spoils almost weren't worth the outcome.
Still grumbling under his breath, he at least made a show of glancing up when the sliding doors whirred open, hands still fastening the last of the wrap over his mottled leg. He didn't have much in the way of defense, but he'd been lucky so far; most of the kids here were good at heart, and even in his first arena, he hadn't run into anyone willing to murder him.
So when a lithe man appeared, in silky two-piece pajamas... he couldn't help but roll his eyes a little, shake his head.
Before the realization caught him like a hook to to the mouth.
Starfleet Insignia.
"...Never thought I'd be so glad to see an Academy patch."
Greeted, tone gruff, but with an edge of hope digging in. He'd wait; to see if the kid caught his meaning.
Might just be a trick, after all.
no subject
"Class of 2368. Though this nonsense is just someone having a laugh at our expense." Why else would the bloody gift shop be full of cheap knick-knacks and souvenirs emblazoned with Starfleet insignia? It was almost insulting.
Julian came closer, crouching next to the other man.
"I came down here to offer what help I could, but it seems like you've got most everything in hand already. I'm Lieutenant Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space 9."