thearena | [open] week 3;

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[open] week 3;

Who| Thane Krios + Open
What| Thane is spending time moving between the floors, getting acquainted, and not quite believing that he's in the middle of a death match.
Where| Floors 1,2,3 - near the elevators.
When| Early in Week 3, pre-Volcano.
Warnings/Notes| Just let me know which floor since he is drifting among them. Warnings - none at the moment.

Thane woke up in a very strange place before being quickly ushered over to the dark, crowded basement where he found himself. He understood his goal, but he didn't really much like it. At one time, he considered fighting and killing an honor, but he didn't recall volunteering for this. And he believed it was very likely that the others there under the same circumstances as he - against their will. They were mistaking forced fighting like this with the honor.

Also, if there were others there, then he knew that there was a possibility that there would be someone he knew there, and it concerned him. He didn't want to be put in the position where he'd have to kill any of his comrades from the Normandy.

He decided soon that he needed to understand the lay of the land, and he could figure out the rest once he better understood the location. He spent only a little time on the basement floor, before he decided that he needed to make a move to a different part.

He sees a couple of options to get up to the first floor - the elevator and the steps. The steps seemed wise as the elevator would make noise. There were others there, though, and there were so many opportunities to wait and hide in staircases.

He found found the elevator had far less blind spots, as well, so he picked it. He waited a few times for dings to go and pass before moving to the first level. He stepped out onto the floor, taking a quick look and listen before he did. He repeated this process a few times, keeping his eyes and ears open.

He spent a bit of time standing just outside of the elevator, back to the wall, ears alert for footsteps.

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Famed assassin, murderer of thousands, monster of criminal legend, Christopher sits on the ground on the third floor, apparently unready for violence. He is sitting in front of one of the statues of human evolution, gently prodding at a toe bone.

When the elevator sounds off, Christopher waits for the doors to slide open. Then, without turning towards whoever is now behind him, he raises a hand in greeting. "Don't you think museums are incredible? I laud humanity's decision to memorialize the history of the natural world. Oh, and the lies they think are true about that history, but it isn't fair to demand perfection. I'm so very glad that we get to enjoy here all these remarkable artificial reconstructions of natural things. Shall we look at them together?"

Thane was quiet for several moments when he was spoken to. He had been waiting for that. For someone - anyone - to acknowledge that he was there. Of course, he wasn't so foolish to not attempt to get a good look of the person before him before he decided to approach. He was still in a good enough position to maintain an advantage if he felt that he would need it.

This person didn't seem too eager for a fight, and honestly, Thane wasn't either. He found the thought behind it pretty appalling. With quiet, and practiced grace, he takes steps away from the elevator door in near silence.

"Many species memorialize history." At least, Thane could list several. Maybe it was done differently, but they all did it. The proposed thought seemed like it could be enjoyable among the havoc. And a museum would be a good place to lose someone if he needed to. "The museum, then."

Oh, Christopher thought, hearing the skill with which Thane moved. It's like that.

He rose to his feet and turned around. The person before him looked like nothing Christopher had ever seen, and while Christopher's own teeth and sclera made him monstrous, this was even more extreme.

"Wow! I had no idea! My!" Christopher's sudden elation was matched by sudden animation, arms moving excitably. "I thought you were just a monster, but in fact, you're a monster from another planet! I'm so very glad to meet you." Careless of the situation, Christopher stepped forward and bowed with flourish, "My name is Christopher Chareau de Red. May our discordant lack of natural harmony bring us closer together in beautiful cacophony."

Though Christopher moved like someone untamed and thoughtless, those with truly sharp eyes might notice that each movement was precise and fluid. Christopher always knew exactly what his body was doing; if he was overlooking the danger of their situation, it was because he had chosen to ignore it. He had that level of confidence in himself.

Thane didn't consider himself a monster, of course. The men who hired him certainly had been, though. And those he killed may have considered him one. He took in the man's face before him, he looked different - different from other humans, at the very least. Even though Christopher seemed careless, Thane still had his guard up. They were in the middle of a battle to the death. There was no reason for him to think for a moment that any person he met here was safe.

"Thane," he answered. "I am no monster." He wanted to make it clear that if the other considered him a monster, it was an incorrect assumption.

Christopher took the information in stride, answering back, "Are you a prince?"

"What would make you believe that?" he asked, instead of answering the question. He was curious as to what would possibly give anyone that impression. As far as he was concerned, his behavior was no different than it typically was.

As if he couldn't believe what Thane just asked, Christopher shook his head. "Why, because you're not a monster, of course. This is a tragedy! What fairytales have you been read?"

"No fairytales," Thane answered. "Most stories have many roles to fill." He watched Christopher, although he kept his ears alert for any sound. "And who would say I have to fit any role?"

"In that case, I'd call you a rebel! Hang on," Christopher said, drawing back and interrupting his own excited outburst. "A rebel is a role too. Never mind. I have a question."

A rebel - Thane didn't disagree. If his life aboard the Normandy was a Fairytale, he would be a rebel. They all would be. "A question?" he asked.

He smiled, as serene as could be, and with the easy cheerfulness of one asking about how a friend's pet was doing, asked, "Do you intend to try to kill me?"

"Do you?" Thane asked. Evasive even in the line of questioning. He, of course, had no real intention to kill. Not if he could avoid it.

For a brief moment—an expression that flickers by so quickly that it may not even have been there—Christopher looked at Thane as if amused by his evasiveness, as if questioning if Thane really thought Christopher could have missed all the signs and signals. And then, Christopher stepped back, as if he had missed all the signs and signals, and looked on Thane in horror. "How could you think that of me? Aren't we friends? I know some people think it's all right to be suspicious of your friends, but I believe trust between us is key for an enduring relationship."

There was so many red flags and unsettling feelings coming from this man, but Thane stuck around. "Friends?" Thane asked. That was assuming far too much out of this simple conversation for his taste. Thane trusted those he worked with aboard the Normandy, but others didn't quite get this honor. "Suspicion is well placed here," he said.

He shakes his head in disapproval. "Even if the best thing to be would be to approach others with wariness and never let your guard down, that doesn't mean it's the most enjoyable thing to do. No, I shan't do it. Even if you do intend to kill me, I won't suspect you of it for a moment."

"It is not about enjoyment," Thane answered. He wasn't talking to him because he thought it'd be fun. He was talking to him so he didn't have to kill anyone for now. "There's no enjoyment here."

Darkness was your friend. Silence, moreso. Foreign enough concepts, against the flitzy backdrop of the Capitol's monthly media-circus. Still, Shepard was no assassin. No, she was a shock trooper, a brawler, the tip of the spear, Hacket had called her. Others had called her an artist, or a sister, or—

It did no good to remember now, staring at the bland brushed-silver doors as they shuttered and opened. Ding! Second floor, Mezzanine...

She hesitated, long enough to make wary any of the number of unprofessional idiots in this arena, not realizing that there was one very professional assassin standing just outside, in the shadows.

He was fast when he heard the ding of the elevator. He was waiting just outside of it in the shadows. He didn't find that many people got on the elevators there. They especially did not get off on the floor that he was on. The footsteps that got off of it were not familiar to him. It only took a second before he was there.

He placed his hands on opposite sides of the figures' jaw and head. He was full prepared to snap the neck. He recognized the shape of her jaw and the feel of her face. For the first time in a long time...he hesitated.

So he waited, gave a moment for the person to speak up, still fully prepared to snap the neck. He was not prepared to leave the position of power, but...he did need to know.

Edited 2014-02-11 00:33 (UTC)

New people came in all the time. Mid-arena, even, she was a fool not to remember it. Never reduce your enemy to a faceless mob, that was what would get you killed. In the moment before he snapped her neck, that's what she thought; they got themselves a ringer, you stupid bitch, and now you're dead.

But he hesitated, and she blinked, bright red in the dim light, the inner glow of cybernetic scarring like a trail of low-impact magma along her cheek. The low ambient light from the window scattered along the marbled walls, the tiled floors and lit the side of her attacker's face like starlight off water. No human made a silhouette like that— this man was a Drell.

She should have hit him then, a part of her screamed for it. Duck, strike low, break the ribs with your fist. Or, turn, bring your elbow into the weight of your shoulder, up, shatter his jaw. A dozen little scenarios flickered behind her eyes like fireflies as she stared, broken insoles, the crunch of bone, the sick wet slop brains made when you caved in skulls. She couldn't move.

She whispered his name instead, not quite believing it.

"Thane?"

Edited 2014-02-11 02:01 (UTC)

The recognition was immediate. He would know the feel of her face anywhere beneath his fingertips. He would never forget her face or the way that she felt. Instinct to kill fell apart right then when he heard her voice. He wasn't glad to be in the middle of this arena, and it was worse now that she was also here.

"Shepard." Her name came out of his lips in a quiet mutter. It was just for her. His hands fell from her, knowing that he didn't truly need that power over her. She was not a threat to him, and if she had been - he knew that there was no way that he could purposely kill or injure her.

He doesn't move for a moment. "You're here," he said. She was the first familiar face he had met.

"You're alive," She shot back without thinking, always had, probably always would. She'd have winced at the instinct if not for the shell-shock: he was alive!

And he was here.

Well, nothing was perfect, but she'd take what blessings she could find. Alive, and present, and before she quite knew what her body was doing, she was following his step back and— no. No, this was wrong, no matter how private a dark hallway in a silent tomb of a museum seemed, it couldn't have been more public. She wanted to grin and gasp, to grasp him by both hands and his neck and bury her breath in his neck. She wanted to kiss him until she could no more walk a straight line than fly unaided by eezo, until she felt like she could fly. Instead she took that abortive little half-step into his personal space, then hesitated like teenager on their first date.

What the hell do you say? There aren't any easy platitudes, masks for real meaning. Shit, I'm so bad at this. Never did give Garrus the credit for his aplomb, or had that been the stims talking, both times?

"What—" she choked on it, and the break in her voice reminded her of the dark halls, the exposed position, the danger and inevitability of the Games. Right, back to work. Focus.

God, he was so damned handsome, "What did they tell you about all...this."

"I am," he answered. At least for the time being. Thane didn't know when he would die, but he knew that it would be here. He had accepted that the death was a part of his life some time ago,and he much would have preferred if he died making the world a better place at home, and that he wasn't doing it in the middle of what seemed to be made out to be a game. Shepard being there set a realization in him, though.

The same realization that he had the night before he arrived here. That unease settled deep in his gut. He would lose Shepard -- and only because he had her to lose. Even though She hesitated once she was in his space, he didn't. He rested one hand on her cheek, looking down towards here.

One word fell off of his lips, almost like it was instinct, "Siha -- " he stopped himself. Thane hesitated. What was there to know about this place? "Only that it was an honor to fight to the death."

The elevators had become an ambush spot for Garrus. There was enough shadow and hiding places around the elevator that it was easy to stay concealed before attacking anyone that stepped out from the lifts.

This occasion though was different, the doors sliding open and stepping out was one of the few people he hadn't expected to turn up. He had be coiled up, ready to spring but now, all he did was stand in the shadows, watching.

"Thane?"

Thane stepped out, and he didn't expect to hear the voice that he did. He turned his head towards it, although he knew immediately who it was that was talking to him. He kept his back against the wall. "Garrus," he answered. The other would know his voice, he hoped. He hadn't expected to see him there, either. Although he shouldn't have been surprised by it. If he was here, what was stopping these people from getting the others?

They were at a stalemate, neither one liking the odds and both combat seasoned enough not to want to be the one to step out and risk it being a trick. But Garrus always trusted his sight, there was no reason for it not to be Thane. Even if the Capitol were playing tricks on him he'd rather go out like this than by the damn volcano.

Stepping out of the shadows and into the light it was indeed Garrus. Perhaps not as bulky as Thane remembered him, only clad in the blue circuit board pyjamas.

"Shepard isn't going to like this."

Thane watched him. He was different from how he remembered, but it was still, certainly, Garrus. He wouldn't forget his face. His pajamas were a dark red, which worked nicely in the dark, where he preferred to hide. "Shepard?" he asked.

He didn't quite figure out why Shepard wouldn't like his presence, other than the fact that they were in a death arena. The presence of the others here just made this situation far more complicated.

"It's a long story, let's just say this place and the people who run it don't see eye to eye with us." Garrus explained without going into too much detail. He couldn't explain to Thane that they were being filmed, every moment of every day in the arena but he could imply things.

"Shepard is here, and myself, you're the only other member of the crew that's here. For now."

"For now," Thane repeated. He knew from his limited experience there that the people here wouldn't see eye-to-eye with him. He didn't necessarily approve of death matches to begin with. It seemed like that disagreements were on par with the time he spent with Shepard.

He didn't need details as to why they didn't see-eye-to-eye, and he was glad Garrus didn't spend the time providing the details. If Shepard was here, there were certainly more things to be taken care of. "You're not together?"

"We're scouting different halls, looking for resources, taking out threats and finding allies before meeting up in an hour." He replied, not giving a specific location for their meet up, lest he find a surprise from the coordinators waiting for them when they least expected it.

"How long have you been here? I didn't see you at the start of the arena."

Thane nodded. Shepard was here and she wasn't with Garrus. That was what mattered. He figured already that staying nearby would be the best option for him to be able to find her and see her. He would have to hold his conversations for another time, though. He didn't know if this would be the best place. "I've just arrived. A day, perhaps two."

"Not long then, we should get away from the elevators, good place for an ambush when you're least expecting it." He nodded toward the sleek silver doors before motioning for Thane to follow him. "I assume they told you what happens in here."

"That it was an honor and I must fight to the death," Thane answered. Of course, he had no intention to make attempts on Garrus's life. "I've been in the elevators." Of course, not many people would be able to get a jump on him. Of course, if there were other like him in the elevators, that was enough incentive to stay away for now. "There's little honor here."

"There's almost no honour here, everyone is out for each other unless you're smart enough to make alliances quickly." Garrus replied, not as a correction but as an honest answer. After two arenas he was beginning to see just how far people would go to survive in a place like this. "I'll tell you now, there's only ever one winner and it's pure luck, not skill that lets you win."

"I understand," Thane answered. He had gotten a similar impression from his interactions so far. The people here were so varied, if there was not some luck involved, many of them wouldn't even stand a chance. Perhaps that was what they were wanting, though. Of course, he wasn't going to seek death, but he knew with Shepard here, there was no way that he'd let her die before him.

"It seems it is the same luck that brought us here."

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[open] week 3;

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