ARENA 10-Placid Hollow

[etcircenses]

The Tributes are taken early in the morning, most of their support teams seeming in good cheer as they dress them in warm clothes, getting them to their tubes. There is obvious comfort in the familiar for the prep teams, and they chatter with, or in some cases, over the heads of their Tributes as they get them ready and load them up.

20

19

18…

If the Tributes could see the area they are passed up into, they would see a deeply overgrown, dilapidated town green, with a large bandstand rotting away in the middle. The spoils of the cornucopia are not gathered in one spot, instead scattered throughout the thigh high grass and weeds around the town green.

Around the edge of the green, the old business stand a silent sentry, looming out of the fog as it thins and winds into them, providing much desired cover.

8

7

6…

But the Tributes cannot see the ground around them. The fog, thicker even than it will be in the rest of the arena, makes the world small around them. The sound of the count down echoes strangely, the tributes seeming too close as the fog brings sounds of their breath, their coughing, the snap of twigs under their feet right to ears of the other Tributes. But with the fog bringing visibility down to only a few feet, it's hard to tell what is a true danger, and what is only the fog playing tricks on them,.

3

2

1

The gong rings out, and the countdown's voice announces "the Arena is now open". The Games have begun.

Comments

[swill]

The countdown was easier than the ones before. He shouldn't be admitting that, but it was true. There was some element to predictability now that Hawkeye couldn't shake off, some acceptance he never wanted to grow to know but did. It had still been a struggle to shove him into the capsule that shot them into the pedestals of the open Arena. But even the string of swears slung at the escorts and stylists in the last second was tamer. The fog in the above-ground made searching for familiar faces a challenge. Hawkeye grit his teeth and knew he'd only worry himself for seeing faces he knew about to run the same race. He spent the seconds looking around instead- looking up, squinting over the fog or at least trying to. He didn't even have a joke to crack to himself about the wardrobe this time around. He just focused on the overgrown grass ahead and he focused on what he thought was a rat scurrying by.

The gong sounds and in all honesty, Hawkeye didn't react like he had before. Sure- his heart leapt into his throat and his eyes stung with a film of mist, and his limbs and entire person felt heavier than lead. The abject terror wasn't something he'd ever grow out of. But he didn't sprint with all his might in the opposite direction of the cornucopia. He didn't dash madly towards it. If any camera fixed on him during the moments, any commentator might think he was trapped in a vortex of hesitance. Hawkeye stalked away from the fray but never strayed, never made himself lost. He counted who got bumped. Who got cut. Who fell. Who never got up. He memorized faces and how much red was smeared on them.

It had been a waste of time to try and help people in the frenzy before. But later. Help would be more valuable later.

Hawkeye hated himself for that. And like a ripe reminder, a small, familiar shape bolted away from the mess. Hawkeye remembered where to. And soon he was running from the center, too, too much time having already passed for it to be a safe place to stay any longer, his spectator sport coming to an end. He takes off in the direction where he thought he had seen the dwarf. Trying door after door is not only fruitless but nerve-wracking until Hawkeye spots the shape- and that's it, just the shape of Fili up ahead- and he bounds forward. All six-foot-two of him, flushed already from the run and the sights and what lies ahead. "Kili!" He hisses.

Because confusing brother for brother was bound to happen sooner or later.

[khiluz]

Fíli does little watching himself, both before and after he gets the bag. This is all too recent, too much for him, he is yet to adapt minimally to this situation, and his mind is set on finding refuge for long enough to evaluate his current situation. It is only when he has sifted through his bag, to discover no blades, no food and only one bottle of water, that he sets out through the place, entirely lost on where to go but intent on finding Kíli nonetheless.

Normally he would notice someone following him, but in his mind he hears only his own rapid breathing and his brother's name echoing inside his own skull, and so he is completely deaf to the man's footsteps, his fumbling, everything - at least until he speaks up.

People confusing him with his brother is no novelty to him. Having arrived in this place three months after him meant running into a good number of people that had already met Kíli before him, and almost all of those had first addressed him in the same way as now. But his mindset is different at the moment - before he would smile, shake his head, perhaps let out an amused chuckle, and then clarify the situation, but right now he is in a panic. His eyes search through the deep fog as if miraculously he will recognize the figure of his brother running past, but to no avail.

So he runs and runs, never calling out for fear of having someone or something else following after him and attacking him, the terror of it happening crushing right against his throat. So when he hears his brother's name he does not immediately realize he is being addressed to, no - he thinks Kíli must be somewhere nearby, and armed with a wrench in hand, he spins around, waving the tool wildly at whoever spoke. His voice, albeit rushed, is low, as he reminds himself to keep quiet. "Where! Where is he?!"

[swill]

He knows his fault before he's called out on it. His gut sinks and his insides turn a revolting lukewarm to contrast the chill of mist soaking his clothes and skin. Hawkeye stops so suddenly he feels his head reel and feels himself gasping for air to keep his heart in the right place in his chest. He's halfway through wiping a hand down his face- an attempt to clear the fog from his own eyes- when he's struck with knowing he'd been heard, like he had intended, and that there was this... stranger, this strange figure, this too-short, too-wrong, stocky, bearded guy facing him now. And not only that, there was the weapon. And Hawkeye thinks he must look like a drowning fish, mouth agape and not turning to run, and the shame of it showing in his eyes.

Because this wasn't a-- this wasn't a man who had been given the name of a victim to slaughter, that was the voice of someone who needed to know. And Hawkeye didn't know if only all dwarves looked alike or if there was something more- or if this man was a dwarf at all or only dwarfed- but he finally swallows down a breath and manages to a hand up to signal Stop. To signal Pause, to signal Sorry. "I didn't--" see him, he means, but he keeps looking at the wrench.

"I thought... he was you." Hawkeye said, even but not whispered like Fili's voice. He didn't want a misunderstanding now, of all times. "I don't know, I dunno where-" he is, but he trails off. He trails off and sucks in a breath again. Oh God, really? Of all the stupid mistakes. But the guy ahead of him sparked an urgency that kept him from mulling. "I know him. I'm not going to hurt you. I thought you were him. --I'm sorry." What he was apologizing for he wasn't sure. As a result, he wasn't sure he meant it. It was just tacked on, as things are when left to an addled mind.

[khiluz]

The words did not reach him at first, his heart racing with hope that he had found his brother, even if he had only been looking for a short while. But the man in front of him was looking at no one else but him, and neither did he seem like he was about to attack him. It would be rather pointless, if it were his plan all along, to call attention to himself by speaking up, when he could have just stabbed him from the back, or smacked him over the head.

His hand holding the wrench lowered as tension unwound from his shoulders, but there was no relief there, only more pain, more worry in him. Because Kíli was not here after all, Kíli was nowhere to be seen, and a darker corner in his heart had to whisper to him, He has been caught by now, someone attacked him. He could almost feel his insides rot from that knowledge. He is out there bleeding somewhere, dying.

One moment standing still was too long, he had to force himself to keep moving or the fear would become too crippling. Briefly he looked up at the man and spoke, "It is alright. He is my brother," and with that, he turned to continue on his way to one of the buildings, gesturing for the man to follow him, rustling that seemed to seep out from the fog setting unpleasant shivers down his spine. "We should not stand around here, it is dangerous."