thearena | ARENA 10-Placid Hollow

ARENA 10-Placid Hollow

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.

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Supplies. Those were the first thing he needed, that was clear enough. There had been little enough time to train, to get used to the entirely new surroundings and find his friends; but he was somewhat prepared. (And if not that, then at least willing to accept the stranger things.)

As soon as the countdown ended he was off, fumbling through the fog for a bag or a satchel or even a weapon, though it was extremely doubtful he would be lucky enough to find a musket here. All he had to do was stay calm, this was no worse than a blizzard back at his childhood home. All of a sudden there was pain, a quick knife to his shoulder given by someone unseen, and he bit back a curse. Nothing for it but to continue (and apply pressure to that wound, he would check on it when he could see better) -- so he did, keeping to the edges of the sound and fury up ahead of him, hoping someone would leave at least a few things behind.

Edited 2014-05-17 23:04 (UTC)

As Tony pops up on the pad he immediately starts taking stock. Old town, this, this he can work with his mind working as he looks around. The town green has a lot of things just laying around.

Trap.

Weapons and bags are too good to be true so he automatically ignores them, He is more than aware that that is where the first deaths will be so he has no intention of going near them.

The fog could be a problem, but if it's a problem for him it's a problem for others. He can't see any of the other avengers from where he is, so while he wonders if that's a good thing or not, he looks back out at the houses his eyes watching for anything important.

"the Arena is now Open." along with the gong is all Tony needs, and off he shoots in the opposite direction of the green heading towards houses, ignoring the first couple he heads further down finding one with an open door, closing it behind him then heads for the garage panting heavily while looking for tools, and maybe a car battery.

Edited 2014-05-17 23:38 (UTC)

The fog sets her on edge more than anything else. Low visibility is bad enough, but there's something different about this. Well, that and she's expected to kill anyone and everyone she runs into, even if she doesn't quite plan on doing that. She's poised and ready and when the gong strikes, she darts off, away from the cornucopia. There might be a treasure-trove over there, but she'd much rather take her chances without a weapon.

The first thing she finds is an abandoned storefront. It's different from the ones back home or the ones in the Capitol, but it's still recognizable. Without hesitating, she simply kicks the door in and darts into the dusty, dilapidated interior. She raises an arm to cover her mouth, sweeping the room with her gaze. Even if there aren't weapons, there has to be something useful in here. She starts rifling through the abandoned shelves.

Of course, that makes a bit of noise.

Danny was off like a shot, completely avoiding the Cornucopia this time around. While he'd gotten out without a scratch during the last arena, the sheer chaos involved had led to him not wanting to repeat the experience.

Besides, it was a town. There had to be something to scavenge, he thought, as he broke into one of the houses.

Karkat skips the cornucopia this time. He hates himself for doing it--there's a good chance he'll be fucked this way--but two of the three times he's gone for things he's gotten pretty fucked up, so it's probably smarter to run the other way and just, like, mug people or kill them and steal their shit later.

So he does run and he finds what looks like to be an abandoned residential hive and he sneaks in and crouches behind a window, keeping watch to see who'll pass it by--or, at least as much as he can in this fucking fog, which isn't much.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good, this wasn't good.

Jack came up to a blanket of fog. He couldn't see anything beyond a collapsing bandstand, and a few shadows that joined him. But there was something really...eerie about this place. Jack couldn't put his finger on it, but this didn't seem to be a good place.

Well, it wasn't good in general. Especially when you were here out to kill someone.

The one thing that really alarmed him was that there was no essence of fun here, none at all. Which was to be expected, considering their circumstances. But it still felt awful. Nobody believed in fun here, and it would be like that until he died. It made him feel tired, and weak. It made him feel alone. He didn't even have his staff with him.

So Jack stood there for twenty agonizing seconds, covered from head to foot in bundles, staffless, and scared out of his mind.

When the gong rang, Jack turned around and ran as fast as he could, ducking into a nearby shop for shelter. He wasn't worried about the stuff in the middle; what would be the chances if he ever tried to get anything? He'd end up getting his stuff stolen, or hurt, or... So he wouldn't risk it.

At least one thing that stuck with him was his nimbleness. Jack hopped and weaved through the broken stores with ease, nabbing whatever he could find. Which...wasn't all that much. A snack bar here, something there. Jack needed something, anything.

He had no powers anymore, no chances of ice flying out of his hands, or his staff appearing out of nowhere. So he crouched down behind one of the stores, waiting until things calmed. If that would happen.

The countdown is pure fear, he realizes, and it sits and eats away at his insides like acid. But he grits his teeth and focuses on the space around him instead, building and streets strange and unfamiliar like everything else in this place was.

With the gong, Fíli is sprinting towards the green area, knowing well that it may be a trap but choosing to take his chances regardless. He'll need food and weapons, anything he can get his hands on, and he needs to find his brother.

The supplies, he doesn't do too bad on. He is not injured when he walks away with a bag, but Kíli is nowhere to be seen. Panic settles on him for his brother and no other reason, but he also knows that running deeper into the thick mist will only drag him into more trouble, not to mention that it might put Kíli's life at risk if he starts shouting his name. He still runs around the area, trying to see the familiar figure or hear his voice, but to no avail.

He's smart, is what Fíli tells himself as he turns around finally and runs to where he had seen the buildings at first. He could barely make them out now, what with the thick fog, but he still manages to reach them before anyone or anything comes at him. Once he gets there he hides himself into a corner to see what he can find on his bag.

There is water, at least. A couple of modern tools are inside, though he does not recognize them, but one is heavy and the other is thin and pointed, so he can use them as weapons still. A heavy chain sits at the bottom, something he will find use to just as well. Three candles - he almost has the mind to toss them away, but ultimately doesn't. And a metal container he has no idea how to use or what for. But no food.

He sets the tools on his waist where they are easier to reach for, and for now begins exploring the area, attention on any noises or movements around him, as he looks around for both things he can use for weapons and any animal or shrubbery that he can possibly eat, all the while eyes peeled for his brother.

[Any thought Clem might have had about going for the Cornucopia flies out the window as soon as she see's the arena.

Or more accurately doesn't see the arena.

The fog is so thick she can barely make out anything two feet in front of her, certainly not enough to tell where the gear and weapons might lie. There could be anything out there; not limited to traps, monsters and other tributes.

With the countdown coming down to the last ten seconds Clementine makes a snap decision and bolts whichever way she thinks is opposite to the Cornucopia. It's nothing better than a guess, wanting to take herself away from immediate danger and hoping that she'll be able to last until she finds Joel and Ellie. After a hectic minute of running to put some distance between her and the starting point she slows, getting her breathing under control and crouching low.

Keep low, find something to use as a weapon, find shelter.

Clementine's underestimated how disorientating the fog is though, despite her best attempts to keep walking in a straight line she's sure she's failing, especially when the occasional looming shadow has her backtracking or veering sharply off to the side.

She thinks it's only been ten minutes but it's feeling longer. Clem stops to pick up a rock (it's better than nothing) and keeps going, squinting for the sight of anyone familiar.]

It's been what Susannah figures is the better part of a day since the arena started and she hasn't seen much of anyone since the first hour or so except some creepy white creatures and luckily they hadn't seen her. She'd flattened herself against a building and hadn't moved a muscle until the things had passed. There's other people around, she knows there is, but it's impossible to see more than ten feet ahead in this damn fog.

She hadn't got much at the Cornucopia, just a club and a can of bugspray, but it was better than nothing and anyway, she'd found some fruit trees later and filled her pockets with apples. She'd eaten one too.

The apples had been an hour ago and now, now she's starting to ache a bit. She's not moving as fast as she'd like to, even on the forspecial legs. As far as she can tell, though, she's in a residential neighborhood. Maybe she'll try to duck inside one of these houses and rest a little.

Edited 2014-05-18 20:11 (UTC)

Eponine didn't bother to open her eyes until the countdown finished. Not that it made a jot of difference, really. She could barely see her fingers in front of her. She certainly couldn't see the Tribute who stood to either her right or her left. Not Aunamee, though. Nor Cosette. Howard. Friend or enemy? Would she be dead before she could step away from the platform?

When the siren sounds, Eponine bolts blindly, in the opposite direction to the Cornucopia. As soon as she can find a safe-ish spot, she sits, stripping off her heavy boots and tying them about her neck so she might be able to run silently through the fog. Ghosts, after all, are much more difficult to kill.

She runs on, looking for shelter, for something she can use for a weapon. Through the fog, she can dimly make out a shape - a car? Is it a car? She makes for it anyway. It will be some sort of shelter, some sort of bed. Perhaps it will provide a weapon for her as well?

Fog.

Joan just lifted her arms slightly, a gesture of frustration and resignation. Of course. Of course this would happen. They make a plan and it falls apart. She could barely see five feet in front of her; she couldn't make out Sherlock at all.

If it were any other arena, she might have changed her mind and tried for the Cornucopia. She might have gone in looking for Sherlock instead of for supplies. But now...now the only thing she could do was turn, and run. She couldn't go too far. The further she went, the less likely it was she and Sherlock would be able to find each other.

There was a car, sad and sagging in the middle of the road not too far away, its doors hanging open like a surrender. She got on the other side and sank to the ground, the car blocking the view from the town green, the one door sheltering her from anyone passing to her left. She sat, looking and listening and tired. Already so tired.

Edited 2014-05-19 01:45 (UTC)

Charles couldn't see. Nor could he hear anyone's thoughts or feelings. He felt more blind than he had before -- and it was terrifying. He makes a point to not go in the same direction as everyone else. His pace starts slow but eventually it picks up into a run. He's trying to head towards somewhere that he can hide, at least until he has a moment to figure things out.

He's watching his back and looking around him as he moves. He pulls the jacket tight around himself as he moves.

Edited 2014-05-19 02:11 (UTC)

Naturally, the first Arena where she wants to gather her allies is one that leaves her stumbling through the fog. She calls a litany of names through the fog, hands clenched into fists, but no one emerges to attack her. She suspects her fellow Tributes are all as blind as she is.

Within minutes her clothes feel soaked through from the damp and she's nearly snapped her ankle tripping over a knoll. She lands on her palms and wipes them on her sleeves, only to find a length of heavy chain in the grass next to her. She grabs it and pulls it tight between her hands.

She feels time slipping from her. No cannons have gone off, but any one of her people could be mortally wounded, and the longer she spends uselessly stumbling around the less time she has to put on a show for the Sponsors. She's biting her lip from her nerves when she comes across a male figure stumbling through the mist too.

She nearly puts the chain around his neck, stopping exactly when she recognizes him, her weapon taut.

"Joly!"

Jaime's heart was going at a million miles an hour by the time he emerged into the dense, humid fog. He turned his head side to side, listening, looking for something or someone--he'd expected something a bit more gladiatorial, perhaps. More Roman. Not for the last time, he silently wished Khaji was with him as he peered into the thick fog. It was humid, too. Not something he was used to. He breathed in the thick air, then tensed as the countdown ticked onwards.

"The Arena is now open." At those words he sprung from his pedestal and took off in a direction at random, keeping low and moving with purpose. Get away from the start area, figure out where he was. Get his bearings. Survive. That's all he had to do. By the time he'd gone a couple hundred feet, he was panting for breath in the fog and he paused to lean against a tree, chest heaving. He'd be momentarily safe here, right?

Spike is creeping around like an idiot, big round goggles stuck to the top of his head that make him look not unlike a character from the animated series Digimon: Digital Monsters which is actually what he's reminding himself of right now. He's humming the themesong to himself as he guards his pack, carefully held in front of him as he walks, leadpipe in his free hand.

"Digimon digital monsters, digimon are the champions..." is what you might hear before you see anyone come through the fog. Spike is trying his best not to remain out in the open, but there's only so much cover and when you can't really defend yourself he figures it's best not to be a sitting duck. Even those fuckers waddled around a little bit.

Still humming softly, though now he seems to have moved onto 'Welcome to the Jungle," Spike is stringing the wire he found in the Cornucopia across the path and anchoring it to saplings on either side. Classic tripwire. And the fog made a perfect built-in camoflage for his dumb pranks. Though it was practical, being that he couldn't physically attack these people, and if he just kept singing the chip couldn't zap him for thinking about hurting anyone. How did that Fresh Prince rap go again?

There's a rather jagged rock in the path so if you fall just right you might just crack your head open on it. Added bonus tbh. There's also some crooked pieces of glass and a spot that smells suspiciously like pickle juice nbd. Spike ducks behind an old oak tree to see if anyone will happen by. Like he told Xander, he's pretty sure he can eat someone if they're already dead. How great would it be if he got a trophy and a full tummy out of this.

He can just ignore how little joy that actually brings him - he thinks he hears someone coming. He goes quiet and hunkers down.

[[ feel free to run into him anytime during this process or have your character sidestep the trap as well. ]]

[After having grabbed a small bag of supplies, and as well as a sword in hand, Sonja had quietly snuck off into the town. Quietly and carefully stalking around one building to the next. Scouting the area out for potential, future use. First things first, find a safe place to take shelter and plan her next move.

Ducking into yet another house before moving away from all doors and windows. Taking a moment to sit down and gather her thoughts whilst keeping her sharpened sense at their max. Her next bet would most likely be to wait for everyone to wilt down into just a minute handful of people. Perhaps she should also make traps of her own, just in case?

Sonja was rather positive that she could salvage whatever she could find here to make something.]

Edited 2014-05-20 04:16 (UTC)

Carlos had found a lab coat.

Ladies and gentlemen, Carlos the scientist had found a lab coat.

He had no supplies to show for the cornucopia, but as he crept through the fog he had seen a pharmacy, and -- well -- Carlos had priorities. The medicine was all expired, of course, but Carlos grabbed some of it anyway. Maybe he could reduce it to its component chemicals and use it for something later.

He had found the lab coat draped over the back of a chair. It was musty, dirty, and the style was extremely unfashionable and very out-of-date, but it was better than nothing. Carlos felt much more like himself as he went on through the fog -- he looked more like himself, and he had to sell him, Carlos, the scientist, as someone who was willing to put on a good show in the Arenas. If he didn't...well, he'd never know, would he? Because after he died in the Arena, he'd just never wake up.

Thinking about the inevitability of death but the evitability of early death had distracted Carlos so much that when an abandoned car loomed up in front of him, he nearly walked right into it. Carlos pushed his glasses back up his nose and peered at it, walking around it slowly. It was clear that no one was in the cab. Carlos wondered: could it be made to work again?

A look under the hood said no; no, too many parts were damaged, too many parts were missing. However, Carlos looked at the rusty old engine with a critical eye, and rubbed his chin with his hand. Maybe he could find a use for the car after all.

Anyone who came across him would see a tall figure in a filthy lab coat, elbows deep in engine, trying very hard to disassemble it quietly and not entirely succeeding.

He gets in and out without a kill. Not a good start. But it's impossible to see anything around here, what with the fog. It's like those colder nights when the ocean would roll in as a mist. He'd have to stay on the bottom floor of his hive, lest he dare risk getting culled on his own traps.

But more than that, he heard a scream. To be fair, he heard a few. A good motherfucking handful of people getting a hurt on and at each other. But the one scream rang to sharp and it ran down his spine with its familiarity. He prays he was wrong.

He's got enough for his trouble though. The bag he's claimed is full of things he can use. And a motherfucker can't go wrong with a pickaxe. Blunt enough to feel alright in his grip, but something that will still spill blood. A win-win.

He picks himself up and starts to head into the fog, where something calls to him, far off and distant.

Edited 2014-05-20 19:12 (UTC)

The fog reminds her of Death. This is both frightening and strangely comforting- she has been passing between Life and Death since she was twelve, and she knows how to deal with limited visibility by paying attention to her other senses.

She looks around for an item, but between the poor visibility and Sabriel's own desire to avoid other tributes, she doesn't find anything before she walks away, moving quickly and making as little noise as possible.

The most important thing after getting away from the Cornucopia safely was finding the others. Brainy waited on the roof of a shop, pressed against it, looking down at the people passing in the mist.

He had to make it so Rokk and Lyle found him, without giving himself away to people that might kill him. Even in his scattered state he knew how vital that was. Because of his scattered state, he knew how vital that was.

So he did the logical thing and...curled his hand at his mouth and whistled.

The beauty of Coluan dexterity was that it was very easy for most Coluans to manage complex body movements and actions. That meant that the whistling sounded very distinctly animal in nature, birdlike enough that most wouldn't have even considered that it was coming from a Tribute. (And why wouldn't there be birds in this arena? It was still so new, no one would know what wildlife they would find.)

So that he could attract the right people, he made it sound distinctly like the call of a Titanian Silver Swallow, a common enough pet on multiple worlds that anyone from their universe would be familiar with it.

To anyone else it was innocuous, likely sounding simply like a random bird in some high place. To Lyle and Cos, they'd be left wondering why they were hearing here of all places.

He had come up with nothing at the cornucopia; the damp air settling in his lungs and causing his plating to ache with all of the moisture. It'd be a miracle if he didn't get plate rot from how humid the entire arena was. Empty handed he needed a weapon, something that could get him through this arena, and judging by the fact that he had no rations and this looked like a levo based arena he knew his chances.

He needed two things, water, and a weapon, after that he'd try to find Shepard or someone else he knew. But for now, wandering through the thick fog and trying to avoid most people was all he could do.

Despite the knowledge that Cosette is no longer around to suffer through an arena, it's difficult for Marius to feel entirely relieved. The vision from last arena still haunted him: Cosette branded as a traitor, a lethal poison injected into her stream, her pained, tortured cry scratching at his ears...

He was well aware that any action or utterance from him that the Capitol might dislike and she could be in as much a danger as he—if not even more. Adding to that the fact that Enjolras had been returned to the arena to replace her caused the interweaving guilt and uneasiness to suffocate him.

And then there was this arena. Allies and enemies blurred together in the foggy mist, their shouts and sounds no different from the rest. The metallic smell of blood soon intermingled with the darkness, and for a brief moment Marius was transported back to the smoke and death at the barricades.

And so he ran, intending to find something of use to him and his friends in the upcoming days, or to protect someone before he died.

A little while after the chaos of the Cornucopia begins to settle, a series of sharp whistles rings out nearby, some quick, others a little more prolonged.

Morse code.

CA PARK THREE HOURS

Whoever's responsible for the whistles vanishes into the mists before he can be apprehended.

It's a gamble. There's no guarantee Steve is still close enough to even hear the code, or that someone else won't pick up on it. But it's the only chance Bucky has right now with limited resources.

Steve made sure to double check along the way, not wanting this guy to have someone sneak up on him. It would weigh on him if he learned Ian died shortly after leaving him here.

Giving a small smile at being thanked - even if he doesn't think it's necessary - Steve pats Ian's shoulder kindly. "Take care. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around," it's a good guess to say it won't be the last time they meet. Maybe not in the arena, but they'll meet again.

He'll take his leave then, needing to find his allies and secure a place for them to camp out as well.

(ooc: If you want Ian to stop him before he leaves, go for it ouo)

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