carnagecarnival: (As the hush kisses at our neck nape.)
The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) ([personal profile] carnagecarnival) wrote in [community profile] thearena2014-06-26 03:41 pm

I'm becoming less defined as days go by

Who| Initiate and Terezi, Initiate and Homura, Initiate and Mordin and Terezi 
What| The blind leads the blind, the Initiate puts his power to use, and then he is put down.
Where| Along the streets, then in the amusement park.
When| This week.
WARNINGS| Eye trauma, body horror (becoming a zombie), Violence, death, dissection for science! Language.


[Terezi:]

He stumbles through the street. Or he imagines it to be. He's listening close for the sound his feet make, a tap of concrete and the drag of gravel with his twisted leg. He can feel blood flow over his face. His paint is being washed away by his own traitorous hue. Between what's been done to his ocularspheres, his leg and his ribs, and the ache deep inside too much like... too much motherfucking hunger, it's hard not to make noise. His breath is too loud, his pusher beats too loud, every step and every noise is too motherfucking loud, how the fuck is he supposed to hear what's coming. 

This is how his death will come to him. He won't be able to find what's a way to sink weapon or  what will leave him with lost limb. He's just gonna die like that. Truth told, he's not too bothered by that last bit. He doesn't want to live blind, he can't live blind, not if he has a choice in the matter. He can die and Capitol will give him his sight back. 

But fuck them if he's just meant to lay down for it. Fuck that, he's done with that, he ain't ever going to that shit. So he drags himself along, hands rising every so often to hover before his face, then drop again. But for some reason, some stupid ass reason, no beast comes. No tribute, no nothing. He could be walking off the cliff and would he know it?

He stops. And then from his throat rips a scream, pain and frustration all mixed up within. It echos out. Silence returns. 


[Terezi - Hellarena start:]

The hunger don't stop. It just keeps going and going no matter what, distant and far as the dark blanks of his vision. But when the alarm sounded, it got sharper. He slammed his hands violently over his ears and snarled and hissed. His hands slid down to his arms to dig in until he could feel the blood. It felt like forever until finally stopped, longer still for his ears to stop ringing. And by then, he'd already pierced grey and torn flesh, leaving something... different underneath but it ain't muscle, however wet it feels. It ain't quite just blood. 

By now he'd be of want to let out a purely miserable moan. But something good comes. He rises properly up to his feet, feeling out the way before him in the dark, because there in it, is a spark. It's something he can hold and feel and see. He tugs a little rougher on it than needed, on his way all finding her but he can't hardly help himself. He can feel people all over the arena, every single one what's left. There are colors and pictures in his minds eye.

She ain't even far. She probably just stood and walked around from where he's settled inside the (he assumes it's for games, there's a lot of softness about) booth. He can use his words but he's deep in the voodoo he calls out through it, speaking to her; TEREZI.

His voice is different this way. There's a loudness and softness layered, both warped and distorted. There are thousand echoing voices backed behind it. And there's his own, set clearest on top. 


[Homura:]

He feels her coming from some ways off, another spark in the dark. He reaches out with fear and voodoo, slow and careful but not hesitant. He draws at her fear, trying to taste the flavor and shades. He makes all to map, real slow, who it is this might be. And of course, he commits it to memory. He won't forget whose fear this belongs to anymore than the fear itself.

He lets his voodoo touch and prod at her fear, not even trying to make like he ain't doing so. No. He's letting it be clear at least that someone is reaching out to her. 

And then he grips it tight and tugs. The suggestion is unspoken but clear; Come to me. This way.


[Mordin:]

His skin is falling away, he feels it. A few hours ago, he's pretty sure he pulled out some of his hair. Just up and came like all it was nothing, a big motherfucking chunk of it. He lost a fang only to find there weren't any missing, he checked every inch of his aching jaw. He spent a small age snarling at what was probably a wall but maybe there was a camera there (probably, they were everywhere), draging his claws through the air and down his arms, screaming at how stupid they all were and how stupid this was and fuck you FUCK YOU-- until he remembered Terezi would still be near and that that mattered. 

He's gotten bored and prodded at people's fears, poking and pushing. He's drawn all the color from them to paint the inside of his head. He's started painting them all dead, because it's funny and he's bored and he needs it. Every so often a laugh slips from him. Or a snarl.

But his body is tired and his mind is tired. His vision is still black and so it ain't easy to tell when all he starts to slip, if he's slipped at all or if he's in some half-state. It must be something though because he doesn't feel the person coming.

tw: body horror

[personal profile] iflipmyhair 2014-06-26 08:20 pm (UTC)(link)
She was shaking as she walked along. It started rather slowly, but then, picked up quickly. It had just been a jaw ache, she'd told herself. It was nothing she couldn't handle. Then it was her hair, but she thought, ah, just flipping it.

Then she began to sweat. The sirens wailed. Her own eyes widened as her skin began to very noticeably peel like molded wallpaper. A sudden flash of hunger, unlike anything she'd felt before. More potent than that when she was eating the fruit.

The fruit. It had been poisoned. Damnit, what a fool she was. The more she had eaten, the more she'd sealed her own fate, even as she refused to allow herself to feel such hunger, or to acknowledge that eating the fruit wasn't doing anything anymore, only making it worse.

But she could handle those things. She assured herself she could. No matter what she became, she'd still maintain control.

Then Madoka came alive. Not in the way Homura had wanted; and she'd known something like this would happen, but...it hurt. Madoka taking a bite into the newly-shed skin on her arm didn't help things, either. It was a small bite, but sensitive, painful.

She...she had to stop this. She promised the moment the doll acted up, she'd end it, didn't she? Madoka - this fake - it was going to kill her in her deteriorating state, at this point. But she couldn't lash out, no matter the overwhelming desire to do so. To rip and tear Madoka apart. Madoka...she deserved better. She had to. Homura has to stop thinking like an animal, even while she fell apart and if Madoka hadn't come she never would have had to eat those damn--

That was when she felt the pull and squeeze.

Her voice is shaking in her mind as she stumbled forward, at last transforming.

I'm coming.

He could help, somehow. Somehow.
Edited 2014-06-26 20:20 (UTC)

Re: tw: body horror

[personal profile] iflipmyhair 2014-07-12 06:07 pm (UTC)(link)
She finally stumbled onto the scene, looking way worse for wear. She managed to change course, zig zag, confound and confuse, but she knew Madoka was still behind her. It hurt. Everything hurt.

"Fraysong Intiate," she finally gasped as she at last came to him, was in his vicinity to speak as opposed to speak. "The fruit..."
pythianjudgment: (pic#7427752)

(meeting)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-06-26 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
She hears the scream. Who in this arena couldn't, Terezi wonders. She knows that she should stay put, keep to herself; but the scream sounds familiar... So, against her better judgment, she follows it.

It takes her a while to find the source. Being a good distance away means that she can't pinpoint where the sound came from. Somewhere in the town, that's all she knows. But once she's closer, she manages to find what she's searching for anyway.

She stumbles onto him by accident, really. Aimlessly wandering the vicinity, trying to ignore the painful gnawing of her stomach and a hazy feeling in her head. The result of her brief consumption of the fruit in the orchards--and her subsequent decision not to eat any of the food lying around again. When she finds him, she stops in the middle of the street, trying to figure out if she's happy or worried or something else entirely.

She almost calls out to him by name, but stops herself at the last sec. This is publicized... The least she can do is not use his name so openly like that. Instead, she calls out with a quiet "Fraysong", what she hopes is just loud enough for him to hear--and no one or nothing else.
pythianjudgment: (pic#7427756)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-06-27 12:22 am (UTC)(link)
"It's me, it's me," she says quickly, noting the way that he reaches for his weapon and the way he growls. They've been tricked before in this arena. The food, the monsters, even the people aren't everything that they seem. But he has to know, it's really her. She holds her hands up, not realizing that he can't see the motion. Not until she gets closer.

She smells the blood and the way he limps and the way that he doesn't look in her direction when he speaks. It's somewhere else, up and behind her--at least that's as much as she can tell from her own blindness.

"What happened to you?"
pythianjudgment: (pic#7427742)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-06-29 10:58 pm (UTC)(link)
"You're babbling," she informs him, much closer this time. She reaches back to him and takes his hand, giving him something to hold on to so he can feel her presence. He's blind, he says, and she knows she has to appeal to his other senses. She knows how scary those first moments of darkness can be, before you figure out how to right yourself and how to defend yourself.

She does listen to his words, though, and she finds them rather odd. A golden-haired demoness with needles? Her first thought is rose, but that can't be right. Rose isn't here. She might have dwelt on it more, if not for the mention of Vriska right after.

"What happened? With you and Vriska? Did she attack you?" She wouldn't put it past her sister, to be honest... Or maybe she was smart enough not to try it. Who knows.

Even as she waits for an answer, she starts surveying the area, looking for some shelter that she can led him to. She would be able to help him better there than out in the middle of the street.
pythianjudgment: ([d] scent of despair)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-07-02 02:11 am (UTC)(link)
"Physically, I'm not injured." Mentally is something else entirely. Witnessing Dave die like he did... Trying to save her. It still weighs heavily on her mind and on her heart. She worries that he won't be there when she gets back. She doesn't know what she'll do if he's gone because of her. Cry again, probably.

At least she won't have to worry about Fraysong. Or Vriska. She tries not to look relieved before she realizes that he wouldn't be able to see it anyway. It's weird being around another blind person... Normally she's the one throwing everyone else for a loop.

"Do you need help? I can patch you up, find us some place to stay." Take care of him, like he took care of her in the last arena when she came to him injured and bleeding. A free hand goes to his face, very carefully brushing some of the blood away. Cool indigo coats her fingertips. It's a little gruesome, but nothing that she hasn't been accustomed to herself. Eye injuries and blood.
pythianjudgment: (pic#7427749)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-07-12 05:45 pm (UTC)(link)
She feels a little silly when he mentions sight, calls her a miracle worker. No, she can't fix that, but she can tend to it. The blood will draw creatures eventually, so that needs patched, and he's injured in other places. She's prepared to rebuke his teasing with a bit of her own, when he speaks again.

Dear ashleaf. She does blush this time, right into the tips of her ears. For one brief selfish moment, she's glad that he can't see her.

It sounds so elegant when he says it, and she doesn't know what to say back. Everything that she tries to think of sounds lame or insincere in the wake of that endearment. So she doesn't say anything at all as a response. She takes his hand instead, like she remembers him doing before, and she places a kiss against his palm. A promise to protect him and keep him safe.

"I'll find us someplace." She almost says safe, but there's no such thing here. The most they could hope for is a few hours of peace somewhere that's not entirely uncomfortable. "You can rest, then."
pythianjudgment: ([d] scent of despair)

(Hellrena start)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-06-26 11:40 pm (UTC)(link)
He's getting worse. Terezi knows that well enough. She is too, but not nearly as quickly or as badly. Mostly, she just wants to sleep off the feverish feeling in her head and her limbs. Her temper is shorter, but she's aware of it and tries to curb it. He, on the otherhand, smells like the wrong side of death.

He needs food, she thinks. They both do, and so she's out scavenging. Not for any of the rations lying in the stalls, but for something left behind. A forgotten parachute, a sack abandoned during pursuit. Anything.

That's when it begins again, the world shifting around them into rot and decay. The smell of death flares up in front of her nose, and she would be horrified if not for the knowledge of the other things that come. Like clockwork, everything is clearer in her head. Not less feverish or tense, but she sees out into the distance of the future and breathes a sigh of relief. There's nothing good out there, but at least it's back. At least she can See.

At the same moment, she feels...almost like a tug in her chest. A feeling that makes her fingers curl and dig into her palms. It's an uneasy and uncomfortable addition to the heat. A sharper tug of panic, and she realizes where it's coming from--almost at the same time that she hears his voice in her thoughts.

She spins around, and he might feel a brief spike among all the worries she has about this arena--a concern for him, for his health and his safety. But it dies down again to settle among the others as she catches his scent in the carnival booth she left him in.

She moves back to him, closing the distance in order to speak without having to call across the thoroughfare. "Was that you?" she asks.
pythianjudgment: (pic#7427755)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-07-01 01:46 am (UTC)(link)
The way that he speaks feels heavy on her mind. There's bits of fear and apprehension in his words, and she has to wonder if he can help that. It's not much, though, and she figures she can endure it for the time being.

Can you hear my thoughts, too? she asks, thinking forcefully in his direction. Talk without the listen... She doesn't exactly know how voodoo works, if he'll be able to hear her thoughts in return. Just in case, she responds verbally as well.

"Does it work both ways?"
pythianjudgment: ([d] i walk a lonely road)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-07-02 02:28 am (UTC)(link)
"I can't help it," she mutters back at his smile. She feels a little like he's assuring and a little like he's teasing. But she can't just turn those feelings off. There's no switch to flip in this case.

For a brief moment, she recalls Dave and her worry that he won't make it back. It bleeds into her worry for Fraysong again--and her fear of being alone. It takes only a few seconds to cycle through before she tamps down on those thoughts. He must be able to feel those, and a new worry surfaces over that.

It's a frustrating endless cycle. Like trying not to think about how a mind reader is reading your thoughts.

In an effect to break that cycle, she focuses on other worries: Their visitors and their sudden painful separation from them. Are they still alive? Are they being kept somewhere? She doesn't know.
pythianjudgment: ([d] i walk a lonely road)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-07-12 09:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Dave, she thinks as the voodoo thoughts swim in her head. He tried to kill Dave. He didn't, obviously... She knows exactly how Dave died. But the scenario in her head pulls up other parallels--like the way he chased after Karkat and how that could have ended. She flinches herself at the memory, only because she didn't mean to touch it and she knows that he can feel it. It's suddenly overwhelmed by the fear that she might have hurt him by thinking of that.

"Sorry," she says quietly, under her breath. She lets him keep going, trying to keep a handle on her emotions. But it's an ultimately futile effort, especially when he mentions Meulin.

Her breath catches, her fingers curling a little. Those images... She feels sick. Meulin... Her Meulin. "My moirail..." She doesn't realize for a second that she spoke aloud, but when she does, she hurries on: "She was... Her and I, we're..."

She doesn't know how to say it, but he has to understand what she's trying to convey. What Meulin meant to her. He must be able to feel her fear, at least. That sudden worry and uncertainty over her fate--whether or not she made it back to the Capitol. But she's not angry, not at him.

"You tried, right?" She tries to smile and only manages a grimace tinged with sick humor. "That's... That's enough. You did what you could. She'll be okay now, when we go back." As okay as any of them can be, she hopes. She tries to See into the future, but it's vague and hazy as always. There's something profoundly sad waiting for them all, but what that something is, she doesn't know. But Meulin is there in most of her visions, comforting her, so her disappearance isn't the problem.

"The other one, he... was my matesprit." That one is also difficult to admit, but for different reasons. "Our...Thing. Ended somewhere in my future and his past." Friend, brother, lover... She's not sure exactly what to call him, either,and that troubles her. Her relationships seem to be so emotionally messy and undefined lately, and she's not exactly sure how they got that way.
pythianjudgment: ([d] scent of despair)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-07-13 02:14 am (UTC)(link)
He tries to joke, but she's not sure if she finds the humor in it. There's too much else on her mind to might light of her friendships and their pattern of fighting with each other.

She smells the hand reached out to her. She doesn't reach back just yet. She's still unsettled, she still has her doubts. Her thoughts drift back to the last conversation she witnessed between them: her failed attempt to get them to draw together. And she worries that he might not tell her the whole truth.

It's terrible and it's unfair. She doesn't want to doubt him, but her head feels weird in the heat of the arena, and his fear picking at her thoughts make her nervous.

"You tried," she says again. "You tried to help her, right? She was hurt, and... You could have left her and walked away. Or you could have picked her off. But you didn't..." She pauses, her attention fixed on his extended hand. "...Why?"
pythianjudgment: (pic#7427752)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-07-13 02:55 am (UTC)(link)
Something pulls tight in her chest, like a string attached to his hand as he pulls it back. She knows what he's thinking, even without being inside his head. She listens to him explain, and it's no surprise to her when he finishes as he does. He expects her to murder him for what he's done. A life for a life.

She steps closer again--maybe he can hear her footsteps, or maybe not. But she doesn't attack him. She reaches hesitantly for the hand he offered before, even if he's already pulled it back.

"If there wasn't any more that you could do, then I can't be mad at you. You found her and tried to help her when I couldn't. That's... It's not a bad thing. You were trying to help her. I'm glad that... that it was quick, at least. It's the best sort of death that we can get around here."

Certainly better than bleeding out slowly or being eaten alive or having to slit your own throat with a shaking hand and a rusty bit of metal. Just a quick snap, and then nothing--until you wake in the Capitol again.
pythianjudgment: ([d] i walk a lonely road)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-07-27 06:42 pm (UTC)(link)
"I've checked. Most of the time, I can See her. I think she'll be back there." The Psiionic...not so much. But she doesn't dwell on that. She can't, not with him being so close and feeling the little doubts and fears that crop up in her mind. She turns her thoughts to something else--

"Killing is still killing. I don't know if it ever feels better for the good intentions, but... It's better for everyone else around you." It's better for her to know that she died with as little terribleness as possible. It's a relief that it was by someone she cares about and not some stranger just looking to slit a throat--or worse.
had_to_be_me: (SrsFace)

Sorry for the wait.

[personal profile] had_to_be_me 2014-07-07 02:40 am (UTC)(link)
The salarian had left his friend for the time being and set off in search of any more trinkets that others might have overlooked. Working with limited supplies. If it wasn’t for the nature of the setting, it would be almost enjoyable. Almost. He had friends to worry about. Or rather a friend. Must press on.

Mordin continued, wandering through the fog when a shape caught his attention. He stopped what he was doing, ducking behind a building. Was it just his imagination or…. No. Something was out there. He saw it move again. It appeared to be his height. But it was a lot broader than him. As the creature shambled closer the doctor could see it more clearly and his eyes went wide, studying it. Definitely not a species he was familiar with. Appeared to be humanoid. Was it a beast made by his captors? No no. Has similar clothes he was wearing. Contestant. Looked like it was in pain. Out of it. Didn’t realize he was there. Which was a good thing. Very fortunate. An injured animal were always the most dangerous. Best course of action would be to eliminate it. Both put it out of its misery and protect himself for potential danger.

As quietly as he could he drew closer to the wounded tribute and pulled out his taser. When he saw the perfect opportunity he flicked the switch. The spring in the repurposed flashlight was released, launching two metal prongs and coiled wires aimed squarely at it’s chest.