Wyatt Earp (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_marshal) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-01-20 07:50 am
the_marshal) wrote in thearena2014-01-20 07:50 am
Entry tags:
You feel that you should run, but where are you to hide in the water?
WHO| Wyatt and OTA
WHAT| It's a brand new arena, time to settle in and scope things out
WHERE| Third Floor
WHEN| Second day
Warnings/Notes| None at this time. Will update as necessary!
He felt ridiculous - a grown man, hiding in a glorified outhouse - but given his choices, the he knew it was his best option.
The dining room was far too big to hold alone and all that food was bound to attract attention, which, he imagined was exactly what the Gamemakers were hoping for. The volcano room, despite the sign proclaiming otherwise, was not to be trusted - he could all too easily see painful, fiery death raining down from above at a whim. The skeleton room, even without the ominous beeping rhythmically breaking the quiet like a small, insistent heartbeat, set the hair on the back of his neck on end. The vacant eyes seemed to follow him, staring accusingly as he ripped away some of the bones from a smaller display to use as makeshift weapons. The sparkling room off in one corner of the floor he hadn't even attempted, the dark, glittering corners stretching further back than he could see.
The bathroom, meanwhile, was small and quiet, with only one way in or out. He was blinder than a bat with the door closed, but that would be true, he knew, of anybody trying to sneak in on him.
Tucked up in the space beside the door - where he'd be hidden if someone came in - he waited out that first, uncertain night, listening to the new arena. Trying to settle in. Once or twice he heard the increasingly familiar chime of the elevator, announcing new arrivals to the floor, but other than a distant thump that he took as somebody scavenging and the death announcements - piped in from somewhere unseen - there was nothing.
Sleep alluded him most of the night, the quiet too profound, the knowledge that he was alone too sharp, but he eventually dozed off into a light, fitful sleep.
Sometime later - it felt like minutes, but might have been as long as a couple hours - he picked himself up off the cold floor and shook out his aches, longjohns rustling in the dark. Slipping the bag back on (he wasn't going to risk leaving anything behind, not when he could carry it so easily), he carefully pulled the door open a crack and checked the hall, white leg-bone held at the ready as he slipped out of cover.
WHAT| It's a brand new arena, time to settle in and scope things out
WHERE| Third Floor
WHEN| Second day
Warnings/Notes| None at this time. Will update as necessary!
He felt ridiculous - a grown man, hiding in a glorified outhouse - but given his choices, the he knew it was his best option.
The dining room was far too big to hold alone and all that food was bound to attract attention, which, he imagined was exactly what the Gamemakers were hoping for. The volcano room, despite the sign proclaiming otherwise, was not to be trusted - he could all too easily see painful, fiery death raining down from above at a whim. The skeleton room, even without the ominous beeping rhythmically breaking the quiet like a small, insistent heartbeat, set the hair on the back of his neck on end. The vacant eyes seemed to follow him, staring accusingly as he ripped away some of the bones from a smaller display to use as makeshift weapons. The sparkling room off in one corner of the floor he hadn't even attempted, the dark, glittering corners stretching further back than he could see.
The bathroom, meanwhile, was small and quiet, with only one way in or out. He was blinder than a bat with the door closed, but that would be true, he knew, of anybody trying to sneak in on him.
Tucked up in the space beside the door - where he'd be hidden if someone came in - he waited out that first, uncertain night, listening to the new arena. Trying to settle in. Once or twice he heard the increasingly familiar chime of the elevator, announcing new arrivals to the floor, but other than a distant thump that he took as somebody scavenging and the death announcements - piped in from somewhere unseen - there was nothing.
Sleep alluded him most of the night, the quiet too profound, the knowledge that he was alone too sharp, but he eventually dozed off into a light, fitful sleep.
Sometime later - it felt like minutes, but might have been as long as a couple hours - he picked himself up off the cold floor and shook out his aches, longjohns rustling in the dark. Slipping the bag back on (he wasn't going to risk leaving anything behind, not when he could carry it so easily), he carefully pulled the door open a crack and checked the hall, white leg-bone held at the ready as he slipped out of cover.