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

[deafscythe]

It was the work of a few moments to find a bag full of supplies, and now that he's obtained that, Justin heads in a direction that might be away from the field. It's hard to tell, with the fog so thick he can't clearly see the ground, or anything else. This, like last Arena, is going to be more trouble than it's worth, especially if the entire place has such limited visibility.

He nearly runs into yet another fallen stranger, the second close encounter in as many minutes, and steps back out of easy range. Still close enough to see her face, though. He could kill her and take her weapon, and for a moment he considers the possibility, but then decides on a different tactic.

"I suggest you keep moving." The boy offers, voice not quiet a whisper but much more quiet than his usual near-shout.

[ecphrasis]

Molly looks down for a moment to see if there's anything else useful around her, and when she looks back up there's a boy standing in front of her, bag slung over his shoulder. She feels as if her heart has stopped. Here she is on the ground, nothing but a loosely-held prybar in her hands. He has the advantage and Molly wonders if she's really going to die in the first ten minutes of the Games, and how disappointed Sherlock would be.

Except he isn't killing her. He's telling her to get up. Molly swallows and starts to her feet, not taking her eyes off him. "Thanks." The word is a whisper as well, not insincere but certainly awkward. She hadn't thought a random participant would basically pass her by when she'd been so vulnerable.

[deafscythe]

"Do you need assistance?"

Justin would not mind partnerships this arena, and this woman looks sufficiently useless that he could leave her or kill her if necessary.