Bucky Barnes ☆ 32557038 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tookthewheel) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-06-27 04:37 pm
tookthewheel) wrote in thearena2014-06-27 04:37 pm
Entry tags:
You've lost your way [open]
Who| MCU!Bucky Barnes and OTA
What| Bucky got into a dumb fight with his counterpart, broke a rollercoaster and is now moping around the arena trying to deal with that, his scattered mind alongside the dangers of the arena and other tributes.
Where| Various locations
When| During the 2nd Hell-rena
Warnings/Notes| Amnesia and potential references to trauma as standard with this guy. Also possible violence and body horror for the setting
Prompt A: Hell-rena at the Lake
Even at his full strength the fight with his mirror image has left him filthy, battered, bloody and aching.
The world turned to madness; it's falling apart, moving constantly round and round. He could see the buildings moving from the amusement park as he dragged himself at first and then stumbled up, making painfully slow progress away from the scene of the battle with dogged determination. The Soldier forces his protesting limbs to carry him just that little bit more to collapse by the lake and shifts his back up against a tree, grimacing as he does.
It's a poor choice to sit here, there's not much cover but he needs to stay still just for a short while and collect himself as much as he's currently capable of. If he can only have a few minutes to breath in this stifling heat and let his augmented body do what it was made to do maybe he'll survive a little longer in this hell. He uses what strength is left in him to tug off the torn hoody and give himself some relief from the temperature, quickly draping the cloth over his metal arm after so the shine of it won't give his presence immediately away to anyone nearby.
Prompt B: Hell arena, specify your own location/time
He's beginning to feel the very real effects of hunger setting in now. The Soldier's not been eating the food from the orchard (he'd been warned of its effects on his first day), only risking drinking the water sparingly because while he can push on without food for a while dehydration will kill him in days and the heat is absolute and oppressive, but if he doesn't find safe food soon he'll be in real trouble. Not just that, he's still has the lingering wounds from his fight with his other self to slow him down, the few days with his abilities in place have helped to heal the worst of it but not nearly all.
There was one thing he paid attention to in the aftermath of that fight though, his hair is now hacked short to the nape of his neck. It's still far from neat but it presents less of a vulnerability now.
Having lost his previous weapons he's taken the time to re-equip himself with newly scavenged ones. Glass shards and a rusted pair of garden shears with the blades broken apart to form two primitive long knives. He's hidden the weapons as best he can under his clothing as he walks through the arena, searching for any possibly chance to gain more supplies.
[[ooc: Feel free to reply in brackets if prose isn't your thing!]]
What| Bucky got into a dumb fight with his counterpart, broke a rollercoaster and is now moping around the arena trying to deal with that, his scattered mind alongside the dangers of the arena and other tributes.
Where| Various locations
When| During the 2nd Hell-rena
Warnings/Notes| Amnesia and potential references to trauma as standard with this guy. Also possible violence and body horror for the setting
Prompt A: Hell-rena at the Lake
Even at his full strength the fight with his mirror image has left him filthy, battered, bloody and aching.
The world turned to madness; it's falling apart, moving constantly round and round. He could see the buildings moving from the amusement park as he dragged himself at first and then stumbled up, making painfully slow progress away from the scene of the battle with dogged determination. The Soldier forces his protesting limbs to carry him just that little bit more to collapse by the lake and shifts his back up against a tree, grimacing as he does.
It's a poor choice to sit here, there's not much cover but he needs to stay still just for a short while and collect himself as much as he's currently capable of. If he can only have a few minutes to breath in this stifling heat and let his augmented body do what it was made to do maybe he'll survive a little longer in this hell. He uses what strength is left in him to tug off the torn hoody and give himself some relief from the temperature, quickly draping the cloth over his metal arm after so the shine of it won't give his presence immediately away to anyone nearby.
Prompt B: Hell arena, specify your own location/time
He's beginning to feel the very real effects of hunger setting in now. The Soldier's not been eating the food from the orchard (he'd been warned of its effects on his first day), only risking drinking the water sparingly because while he can push on without food for a while dehydration will kill him in days and the heat is absolute and oppressive, but if he doesn't find safe food soon he'll be in real trouble. Not just that, he's still has the lingering wounds from his fight with his other self to slow him down, the few days with his abilities in place have helped to heal the worst of it but not nearly all.
There was one thing he paid attention to in the aftermath of that fight though, his hair is now hacked short to the nape of his neck. It's still far from neat but it presents less of a vulnerability now.
Having lost his previous weapons he's taken the time to re-equip himself with newly scavenged ones. Glass shards and a rusted pair of garden shears with the blades broken apart to form two primitive long knives. He's hidden the weapons as best he can under his clothing as he walks through the arena, searching for any possibly chance to gain more supplies.
[[ooc: Feel free to reply in brackets if prose isn't your thing!]]
Prompt A (I'm so sorry for the length omg)
They'd run into Enjolras and Venus and whatever had been in that damn food had made him and his partner lash out against their allies. And then Enjolras had tossed himself and the German over the edge, leaving Jet to come back to his senses and take care of a dying Venus. He'd watched them all die and now he was alone.
Felicity was still out here somewhere, but he feared running into her again in case whatever that chemical had been wasn't out of his system yet. He'd received clean food and clean water from some sponsor, but he'd been very sparing with it, not wanting to run out and need to switch back to the arena's food.
Honestly, there was a part of him that wished he hadn't been sent rations at all. That contemplated going back to that cliff and joining Albert and Enjolras.
But his own sense of self-preservation kept him walking aimlessly.
With the arena back in it's hellish and decaying state, he tried to stay aware of his surroundings since the creatures here only got more vicious, but he didn't exactly bother trying to be stealthy. His cybernetics were back and with most of his body metal or synthetic, he didn't feel overly threatened.
Even without the fog, he might not have noticed the man leaning against a tree across the lake from him, it was only by virtue of his cybernetic eyes that alerted him to the man's presence that Jet knew he was there. He contemplated just leaving, Jet wasn't interested in hurting him and the guy was clearly in no shape to come after him, but something made him pause. Maybe it was the fact this was the very same lake where he and his partner had murdered that one guy during their aggression-filled haze. He felt badly for that and a part of him wondered if he could make up for it by helping this guy out a little.
But was that really smart? There weren't that many of them left at this point, chances were high that they'd end up needing to face each other eventually.
But he couldn't just walk by. Not now.
He moved slowly towards where the guy was sitting, his knife tucked into his pocket, Al's crowbar and Jet's metal pipe strapped to his back with the make-shift rope the German had made. He wasn't unarmed, but none of his weapons were in-hand either.
As an extra precaution, he stopped about ten feet away, close enough to talk, but far enough away to retreat if need be. Too bad he couldn't just fly away now, not with his jets still messed up.
"You look pretty banged up, there. I'd like to help. If you'll let me, anyway."
It's good! c:
The moment Jet came close his head snapped up, blue eyes surprisingly alert and sharp staring out of a face covered with dried blood from a gash on his forehead that's barely started to scab over at this point. The Soldier won't sleep, he can't sleep (but blackness is waiting, creeping on the edge of his vision with a nagging need), it's not safe to.
Help? His eyes narrow at the offer. Why would someone want to help him, aren't they all here to kill each other? The Soldier doesn't answer for now but he's watching warily, waiting to see what Jet does.
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He held his hands out to show there was nothing in them. "Look, I don't have much, but I know how to patch a guy up. As soon as I'm done, I'll leave you alone if you'd like."
Military training had taught him that much and while all he really had was some spare cloth, it would be enough to help this guy out at least.
"Would it help if I put my weapons down before coming over?" It would suck, but the New Yorker could handle himself pretty well without them, plus he was a cyborg right now and that made up for any lack of weapons.
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He reluctantly acknowledges that he could use the help, he's badly injured in a hot zone where it's not just other humans but the creatures that are out to get him. Caution however is still a necessity, he's not ready for another brush with death quite so soon after the last one.
"Yes." he says roughly, keeping his gaze on Jet. To the offer of help, to the promise the other would leave after and to the disarming before he came near. The arm is hidden and out of sight under his hoody, so if this does turn out to be a trick he still has one weapon left in his retinue.
Maybe somewhere someone is cheering his acceptance as progress.
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He didn't move slowly or even all that cautiously over to the man, just kept his pace even and easy, only pausing to dip one end of the curtain-rope into the lake. Once he was close enough, he knelt down and held the sodden end of the curtain up.
"Just so we're clear, don't try anything while I'm trying to help you out, okay? The sooner I'm done, the sooner we won't have to be so keyed up.
Sorry, this is gonna sting."
He gave Bucky a once-over and reached out to press the damp fabric to the laceration on his forehead; it was already starting to close up, but cleaning it up a bit would probably help.
"Where else are you hurt?"
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After what he's been through any normal man would have passed out by now -- no, any normal man would have died when the rollercoaster went down. What Hydra did to him is the only thing keeping him alive.
Strangely when Jet touches the gash with the cloth he goes oddly -- compliant. He doesn't relax but there's a practiced stillness in the way he sits, accepting the ministration as much as he had from the scientists. Old habits are going to die hard.
"Right hand, broken small and ring finger. Left leg, suspect torn ligaments." he reels off in a bland monotone, "Multiple lacerations, heavy bruising to all areas. Blunt trauma sustained to head." That last one had split the skin when it happened, judging by his hair is matted on one side. It itches now when he thinks about it.
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He gave a bit of a smile to try and lighten the mood, as ineffective as it probably was. "You're kind've a mess, pal. There's probably not much I can do for your brusing or your leg, but I can help out with the rest."
Once the cut he'd been tending to was cleaned up, he pulled the rest of the curtains into their individual parts and stood up. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."
He didn't go far, just a bit into the trees to find some sticks he could use as a splint. He ended up tearing a few from a nearby tree before he returned and sat at his 'patient's' right side. He hesitated a moment, knowing his own inexperience at setting bones was going to make this more difficult than it ought to be, but there wasn't really any way of avoiding it.
He took the broken right hand between both of his own and lightly began feeling along it for the breaks. Anything that felt off got moved around back to it's rightful placement, splinted and a shred of fabric wrapped tightly around it to hold it there.
"My name's Jet. What's yours?"
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He supplies this after a moment of thinking. You have no name. except perhaps he did, perhaps it was only waiting for him to take it back. But the Soldier shied from doing so still, he could not connect to the idea of that man to feel like it should be his to wear.
Throughout the ministrations he's sat stiff but still, not wincing from any pain that he feels, not letting on how much it bothers him as he is touched. This sort of touch he knows and it is never done with his comfort in mind.
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Jet got up and went back to his pack to pull out Albert's pitcher and collected more water before heading back.
"I mean, I chose my name. When they name I'd been given didn't fit me anymore, I got a new one. You can do that sometimes and it'll end up meaning a lot more to you than any name anyone else could give you. Just a thought."
Jet used his fingers, the water, and a new piece of fabric to work the blood and gunk out of the other man's hair so he could clean and wrap the nasty looking cut on his head.
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Prompt A;
For now, he walked along, hands in pockets. His pace was so casual considering the creatures, the houses disintegrating, and the inevitable death of people. He was, maybe, taking this a little too easily.
He made his way towards a body of water, then he noticed someone a little ways away. He made his way there, walking casually as usual. He watched him, and as he got close, he noticed the metal arm.
Familiar. He had a good idea as to who it might be.
"You know you're a sitting duck right here," he said. Loki shrugged his shoulders.
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He must look a sight right now, drenched in sweat and face covered in dried blood, obviously injured. The asset knows how he must look, vulnerable, easy to attack and kill just as Loki points out. It prompts a flex of the metal arm in warning, the plates rippling when he does.
"I can fight." Whatever shape the rest of him is in the arm is still strong.
Despite this show he doesn't actually want a battle right now, he's exhausted and hurting and longing the black relief of sleep, something that's far too dangerous to allow.
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He shrugged his shoulders. It was his way of saying that he came in peace. If he wanted to attack him, he would have already done it. It was clear that wasn't his agenda.
"It'd be a wasted effort. You're better than that."
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"How do you know?"
He needs clarification on this subject. He understands the message Loki is putting across but not why.
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Most people who saw the Winter Soldier did not live to talk about it, either by his own hand or by the aftercare Hydra always took when they sent him out into the field. Unless this man was Hyda himself.
Metal fingers flex as he considers this last possibility.
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The Soldier would almost snort at that if he was capable of humour, he just concedes that logically no one does. "What do you want?"
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Prompt b
The food of the orchard has had it's affect and god how her jaw aches. Rose isn't even fully aware that her skin has been peeling off, the only thing that's in her mind being that she feels power. She feels the mayjjks the Horrorterrors once gifted another version of her singing in her veins and for once she hasn't been resisting their song, using her powers recklessly. They're effective, sure, but they have their drawbacks.
It had started with the bile, think and black like ink and tasting like sea salt on her tongue. She should have recognised it for what it was, she would have had she been in her right mind. But hunger keeps her on edge, that vicious hunger and rage drives her and so her body warps before she can even realise, what little of her own skin left, a dark grey, colour leaching from her violet eyes until they're white and cold.
Rose moves through the arena with a single purpose, though what that is she couldn't tell you. She pays little attention to the other contestants, that is until they draw her attention and then. Well it's better for them when they don't, power crackling from her wands and rage in her heart.
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The woman looks like something out of a nightmare, her skin is pale and peeling. Her eyes white and inhuman. In another life he would have turned and ran, swore perhaps, in another life. The man right here is the Winter Soldier however, the Soldier running the show when whatever is trying to come back of Bucky Barnes can't handle what he's seeing.
The Soldier blinks and that's all, takes in the new information and assesses it as best he is able -- which is not much, he has no basis of comparison for what's happening now.
Given his current priority is supplies and she doesn't look to be carrying any he's not interested in starting a fight, he's still hurt and weakened. So instead of bowling in for an attack he starts to skirt to the side of the street, not taking his eyes off of her as he does.
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But for now Bucky is luck. He can slip by her without a hassle. So long as he doesn't make a noise that is, Rose's ears too atuned to every little sound, her body ready for a fight.
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Unfortunately for him his luck long since expired. The Soldier's foot comes down through overgrown foliage and hits a can hidden by the leaves, sending a metallic clank echoing down the open street. His eyes shoot up at the mistake, narrowing to the one other person he knows is here and listening for more.
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She's aggressive and that's more than enough justification for him. The end target of the game is still in play, after all. He pulls out a dagger of glass and throws it at Rose with his left hand, aiming for her throat.
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And for all her slowness she's quick when he throws that glass, her hiss like thunder rolling in as it embeds itself in her hand as she protects her throat and her other hand throws another blast of mayjjks to him, Rose hissing again as she stops to pull the glass out of her hand, the blood that drips out clearly black.
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The Soldier doesn't stop to contemplate it, throwing himself into a forward roll to avoid the next blast and feels it singe against his back. He's starting to move in a circle around her, drawing slowly closer as he analyses the powerful blasts of her attack. She's not as slow as she looks and doesn't react as much to the injury he just incurred against her as much as she should.
Get in close.
He has a goal and pursues it, coming out of the roll and hurtling forward, throwing another glass dagger to attempt to distract her as he pulls out the blade of garden sheers, coming in low and fast.
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