Discovered

[formersurgeon]

Who| Joan and Some and OTA
What| Joan is hiding out, but her options are limited, so she's bound to be discovered.
Where| Sixth floor
When| Week 1
Warnings/Notes| None yet.

The information kiosk was a counter up against one of the walls. It had glossy, brightly colored pamphlets that told visitors who each featured wax Tribute was. Very flashy and utterly useless. What was useful, however, was the space beneath the counter. There wasn't much of it, but Joan was small and it was the one spot that afforded her any sort of cover. If a Tribute stood at the right angle, they could see her, but it was the best she could get. She couldn't run. Couldn't even walk. But she could hide

She waited there while Sherlock and John explored. Her leg was immobilized by a makeshift splint, but they had no pain killers, no anti-inflammatory medicines, not even an ice pack. Her knee was swollen, and pulsing with near unbearable pain. So she spent that time alone in hiding with her eyes closed, taking slow, deep, measured breaths, trying her best to just let the pain wash over her.

Comments

[gruesome]

Some had only just reached the sixth floor and already he hated it. Hated it. Hated the sunlight that left so few shadows. Hated the dead figures in their stiff poses. But he had to know the whole place. Just in case.

It took a little while for him to detect her scent under the overpowering smell of wax. But once he'd noticed it, it was unmistakable. Injured human. Bruised flesh. His stomach clenched hard, even though he'd started this Arena barely hungry at all. He would just see, he told himself. The scent was clearly alive, and he was nowhere near hungry enough to kill, but he would just see. They might need help.

Silent, his claws all curled in against his palms, Some padded along the walls, upper body low to the ground as he tracked that scent like a massive bloodhound.

[formersurgeon]

[Joan opened her eyes, needing to adjust her leg. Then she saw movement, a shadow on the wall. Something was there, something bizarre. She swallowed, her hands curling into tight fists. She didn't have a weapon of any sort. She just had silence. She stayed completely quiet save for the bare sound of her shallow breathing, and prayed that whatever it was, it would pass by and not even be aware of her presence.]

[gruesome]

He followed the scent to the desk and stood half-up, forefeet propped on it, as he sniffed, mouth open to let more of the scent reach his palate. Not familiar. Or, semi-familiar, but he wasn't connecting it to a face or name. Just to the elevator at the Tribute Center. When he held his breath, he could hear hers.

He stood a little higher, using his full height to look around the nearby space. No one was close, at least no one who wasn't more invested in hiding than either of them. So he dropped back down to all fours, and came around to the side of the desk.

"I mean no harm," he said, deliberately slow as he came into view, all four hands held visible. He was unarmed, had nothing but his loose longshirt and a band from one of the queue markers downstairs, tied around his forehead to shield his eyes.

Sorry about the brackets! Reflex.

[formersurgeon]

She watched the shadow grow bigger, heard the thing grow closer, and her breath grew increasingly quick and sharp with fear. Then the thing came around the desk, and her eyes widened as she tried to pull back with nowhere to go, her breath seizing in her chest. When he told her he meant no harm, though, she remained tense, but started breathing again.

"Who are you?"

It was a deliberate choice to ask "who" and not "what."

No problem.

[gruesome]

He kept his hands in clear view, crouching low, and the main two eyes focused on her face while the other six flicked down her body. He could see the heat of the injury, and he shut them to stave off that distraction.

"Some ovMennet. I'm a grue," he added, because frankly, he'd been expecting the other question. "I belong to District Two."

[formersurgeon]

District Two. Yes. Joan remembered seeing something...someone...like Grue at one of the events. She had never gotten a good look, though. This was what she got for not watching the footage from previous arenas.

"I'm Joan," she replied. "District 11."

[gruesome]

It took some work, for someone his size, to hunch up enough that the desk blocked him from anyone's casual observance around the room, and two eyes stayed fixed upwards, watching for any other motion.

"You're hurt. Do you need help?"

[celebrityskinned]

Venus is used to being stealthier than this, but her injury has hampered her a bit. Her breathing seems upsettingly loud to her, and yet still not enough to keep her from being short-winded. She's gone back to limping now that she isn't trying to look tough composed for Kankri. Her quest for museum maps has been in vain thus far, and by the time she reaches the sixth floor she's exhausted and considering drawing up her own.

When the elevator doors open and present her with wax figures of her former competitors, she startles, hands clenching to fists, every muscle tenses. But the statues don't move, and soon she slinks among them, examining each one for signs of life. It would be good camouflage here, surrounded by the commemorated dead.

"This is..." Creepy, says the voice inside, the one that doesn't have to worry about looking good for the cameras. The Venus that radiates cool and collected, however, the one Sponsors squabble over, says something different out loud. "Interesting."

She pauses in front of Topher Brink, one of her victims they never revived. On the outside she smirks. On the inside she cringes. She continues hobbling along until she reaches the kiosk, where she leans over and pulls air into her aching lungs, sucking in deep in spite of the agony that causes.

She pauses only when she hears breathing that isn't hers less than three feet away. She stands up, hand finding her knife, and slinks around the kiosk to come face to face with Joan.

[formersurgeon]

She hated it. All she could do was sit there and listen as people walked past. And then didn't walk past. She didn't recognize the voice, but could tell the woman was injured, from the sound of her walk and the sound of her breathing.

Then the woman was there, knife in hand. Joan drew back, eying her. If the woman was going to kill her, there was nothing Joan could do about it.

Except try to help her in the hopes she'd leave her alive.

"You're hurt."

[celebrityskinned]

For a moment, Venus considers just lunging forward with the knife, letting the sharp point speak for her. It would be easy for her to overpower Joan - she outweighs her by at least a little, she's got both feet beneath her, she's armed - so it's not a matter of risk assessment. It's a matter of what makes for good airtime.

There's nothing really photogenic about stabbing an unarmed person with a busted leg to death. It's only fun for the viewers who like torture porn, and Venus wants to avoid that demographic as much as possible.

"Someone kicked my ribs in. What's your excuse?"

She lowers the hand with the knife.

[formersurgeon]

"Someone stomped on my knee. Tore my ACL. Nothing a little surgery can't fix. Or a resurrection."

She glanced at the hand with the knife, then back up at the woman's face.

"I don't think we've met. I'm Joan."

[celebrityskinned]

"Ouch." Venus pulls a sympathetic face, then tucks the knife back into her pouch-pocket and holds a hand out. "Venus Dee Milo. Surprised we haven't met yet, but I've heard of you and the, uh, detective boys, I think?"

[formersurgeon]

"Ah," she said, recognizing the name. "I've heard of you. You cut John's leg last arena. And you have both your arms for some reason."

She accepted the hand, though, shaking it.

"Nice to meet you finally."

[wronglychosen]

Zelos ducked out of the elevator as soon as the door opens, the 'ding' as it announces his presence almost deafening in the near-silence of the floor. Holding his injured arm closely to his body, he crouched near a statue and scowled at his arm. He'd wrapped some gauze around it and called it a day, but given that it was bleeding through already, he was going to need to take some time to look through the first aid kit more thoroughly.

Spotting some kind of info booth against the wall, Zelos gripped the dagger he'd scored his arm injury for tightly in his left hand before making a run for it.

He had to bite back a swear when he came right up, face to face, with a woman hiding beneath the counter. Just his luck.

[formersurgeon]

Joan would have rolled her eyes hard if it weren't for the fact that she had to keep her eyes on this man and the dagger in his hand.

"Seriously, this is the worst hiding spot ever."

She frowned faintly at his arm. Judging from the way the blood had soaked through, the wound was probably pretty bad.

"You're bleeding."

[wronglychosen]

"I got attacked by some pretty vicious broken glass. You don't want to mess with them," Zelos said jokingly, lowering his dagger but not his guard. His eyes zeroed in on the splint on her leg, his thoughts turning in his head.

"But hey, you don't look much better. Did you take care of that yourself?"

[formersurgeon]

"That would have been a trick." She shifted, groaned a little in pain. "No, I have a couple friends. They helped me with the splint." She looked again at the soaked bandage. "I can help you with that, if you like."

Funny how she was still so reluctant to say that she was a doctor.

[wronglychosen]

Well, hopefully her friends didn't come back to find him with her, and jump to conclusions. He had to admit he was a little surprised by her offer. Most healers or doctors he knew were too practical to tend to someone who could be an enemy or treat someone for nothing in return.

"Whoa, whoa, just like that? Are you a doctor?"

[formersurgeon]

"I am." Joan gestured to the bandage. "With it bleeding like that, you probably need stitches. I don't have any supplies, but at very least I can help you bind it better so it has a chance of healing without them."

She misjudged his surprise for fear, and sighed, holding up her hands.

"I'm unarmed. I'm not going to hurt you."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock regularly made his way back, and usually had something with him. He brought her a knife, once, gave it to her solemnly and without a word, despite it being in a strange shape and probably at least eight hundred years old. Middle Eastern.

He brought food, once he got down to the cafeteria.

But usually, he brought electronics. He was starting to amass a little hoard with Joan, and it was to this pile that he was adding when he appeared again, wincing as he ducked down.

He really hoped his ribs weren't broken enough to poison him.

"Alright?" He asked as he leaned down to join her once more.

[formersurgeon]

She had been watching him put together this pile of electronics, imagining where he got them, wondering what he was going to do with them. She wondered if he even had a plan, or if he was just compiling things in the hope that a plan would present itself.

When he joined her this time, her eyes were closed, and her breathing deep and deliberate. Her leg hurt. She needed to stay still so people didn't know she was there (although it seemed plenty of people did anyway) and the lack of movement meant the fluid pooled, making the swelling worse and more painful. It takes a moment, but she does finally open her eyes and look over at him.

"Yeah." Her voice is breathy. "You okay?"

[alldeduction]

"Fine," He lied easily. There was no point complaining about pain he could do nothing for, not when Joan was in way more pain than he was. He set down what he had brought in the pile next to her and leaned over to get a look at her knee, snarling a little bit about what he was going to do to Howard the next time he saw the boy.

Outing him didn't cover it.

"Think I have a fairly accurate layout of the two floors below us, now," He said as he leaned back. "And I can safely say that we are in New York. Or, well, what used to be New York. Or a facsimile of what used to be New York."

[formersurgeon]

She knew very well that he was in pain, and she hated it. Hated that he was hurting, hated that she couldn't do anything to help him. Hated being utterly useless.

She gave a short, humorless laugh at his theories about where they were.

"Yeah, unless they have a teleporter, I doubt we're actually in New York. Although, who knows. They could."

She shifted, grimacing.

"How can you tell it's New York?"

[alldeduction]

"More specifically, it is at least a replica of the Natural History Museum in New York City." He paused, and then added: "I once had a case involving a man who worked there."

It was a lie. They'd taken a vacation there when he was a child, and he'd loved the museum until Mycroft had made fun of him for it.

[formersurgeon]

"Ah, okay. I guess I just didn't recognize it from this floor. I've never seen it with a display of fallen Tribute waxworks. The skylights do look familiar now that I think of it, though."

She adjusted again, gritting her teeth. "Could you check something for me?"