thearena | Mini Arena 2

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Mini Arena 2

Tributes are woken early, and the hovercraft ride is a long one. Not the longest some have experienced, but they are clearly going far.

25 - 24 - 23

They land on the deck of the boat, and are ushered underneath, to the lower levels, quickly. Their stylists go from cabin to cabin, decking them out in over the top finery, before loading them into the pods installed into the corners of the rooms.

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The platforms lift them up, and they are all ringed around a grand buffet table, loaded with a grand feast looking ready to sag down from the weight. Among the food are supplies, plenty of them, all for the taking.

11- 10 - 9 - 8

They've all been warned, don't step off your pedestal early. They have also been warned to put on a good show. That's all this is about, a good show. None of them have been told that there can be multiple winners this time around.

5 - 4

3

2

The sound of the gong plays crystal clear across the opening. The games have begun.

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Wouldn't you be one to talk, Dennet.

"NO. Maybe... IT'S MORE THAN THAT, AIGHT? It's being the same it just... ended." Did it still count as alternate if it was a one-two progression? "THERE WAS A THING WHAT GOT NEED TO BE DONE AND COULDN'T. Got to failing and everything started over as by Messiahs' wills. EVERYTHING DIED. Everything got coming back differentlike." It wasn't technically his fault, he knows, but he can't shake it. It'd been his past self unremembered.

"AIN'T NONE OF THAT SHIT'S GOT OF MOTHERFUCKING IMPORTANCE. And if as he did enjoy such miseries bestowed, he wouldn't be apt to speaking no less of truthiness unto thee. AIN'T OF SUGGEST HE IS. But if you ain't want to up and motherfucking kill then..." He huffs, rolling his eyes, "...don't. AIN'T SAYING YOU CAN'T MOTHERFUCKING NOT. But at least as be about protecting your own damn self and keeping trap shut about such things so ain't no one else shot the fuck down for your making speech."

The water is getting real high, just around this corner he hopes there's something, a way out. He goes and... he thinks he sees brightness, which means a way up perhaps or hallway full of rainbowdrinkers and their motherfucking dayglow. Mirth he hopes not the latter.

"So like, the Apocalypse? The Flood? Some sort of divine re-set button on the whole universe?" He's trying to understand. It sounds...Biblical.

"N-no. I'm not suggesting you enjoy anything." Especially not killing people, especially not while you're standing next to a very killable person. "I just, where I'm from, they don't kill you just for speaking. You actually have to do something." Wait. Is he drawing a line of being a wuss?

Sure seems like it.

Dennett sloshes awkwardly, the leather-soled shoes they gave him with his tuxedo slipping on the deck as he tries to follow. "Please may there not be sharks," he mutters. Please.

"YES!" He says, a hand going up, all tone saying the mark has been met. What Dennet thinks of biblical ain't being so far off entirely. "The end of motherfucking times. THE RECKONING BEING AS TO RAIN FOR THE ROWDY MOTHERFUCKING RAUCOUS. The death of one leading as to the creation of another." Exactly it. It is such a thing so believable as how Messiahs would will it.

"BUT THAT BE THE MOTHERFUCKING THING, MOTHERFUCKER! You ain't being where you're from. YOU CAN'T GO BY WHAT MOTHERFUCKING RULES AS YOU KNEW. Adapt and survive, you get it through your nugbone, aight?" Mirth he hopes he can get this through. "AND DON'T WORRY NONE ABOUT SHARK, I MOTHERFUCKING GOT THIS."

But just for that, he scans the water a little closer, trying to get a better picture of what lay underneath. It's all turbulent and unclear but, he can only try.

"We...always talked about it, but almost like it was a myth. God, the end of days, all of that. Maybe we thought if he was going to pull the plug, he should have done it a few years ago." Wow, Dennett Norton, amateur nihilist. "Is, I mean, is the second world better?"

He'd thought the open deck would be better. Less claustrophobic, less enclosed, but the open air just showed a murky, choppy sea that didn't seem very comforting. More like that 'Nature red in tooth and claw' thing.

"How far do you adapt before you're no longer, well, you anymore?" It was an eerie question: he'd thought of Alex as human though the vast percentage of Alex's body was robotic. But this was inner change, beliefs, core faith.

"I am worried," he admits, holding out the arm the young French-accented lady had stabbed. "I'm bleeding." You know, that ringing the dinner bell for sharks. He'd love to say he's not afraid of dying, but sharks. Teeth. More Teeth. No. He'd almost rather be stabbed in the eye.

And there the smile goes ago, a candle snuffed. "No... NO, IT AIN'T. It's harder. HARSHER. Capitol ain't got nothing what he ain't seen before. BUT WE GOT STRONGER WE UP AND DID, THE LOT OF US. So I figure as... when all it ends again, and it will, the last of us will be strong enough what to be able to manage. OUR CHOSEN GREATS WILL MOTHERFUCKING SURVIVE." He wonders if they're showing that on the televisions. He wonders if Terezi will hear it, or if maybe, in district five all put away, Gamzee might.

"Can't quite answer that other thing none. MAYBE WHEN ALL YOU GET LOSING PEOPLE WHAT YOU MOTHERFUCKING CARED FOR CAUSE OF YOU'RE TURNING TO BE. Maybe when you start hurting them your own self." Like he did. "OR MAYBE IT'S ALL BEING YOU. Even the worst still thinking they has for their own self. SO IF THAT'S BEING SUCH WHAT IF YOU AIN'T NEVER STOP BEING YOU? It's just... part." He shrugs, uncomfortable. "AIN'T KNOW RIGHTLY." What about Kurloz? Was he not himself anymore because he wasn't much like his other self? They shared a soul but his otherself felt like a whole different person. More like the way Gamzee was, same but different.

He looks back to see the arm Dennet holds out. He takes the blood in, bright as it is. Then he reaches to the orange suit he's got, gripping the fabric, and off of it, he tears a long strip. "Give that brachium on the fuck over to him," He says, holding the cloth at ready.

"Oh." Well, Dennett, at least you're consistent in your ability to find the biggest conversational pothole and step right in it. "Well, it seems you have an edge adjusting here compared to, well,...me." Detroit was a rough city, but Dennett had been in labs for most of it, nice, safe, snug labs.

"...that's what I'm afraid of, honestly. I know death isn't...necessarily...real here, but I don't want to be a person who kills my own patients." Can he draw that line? So killing a stranger is okay? This is a very, very slippery slope.

And he's still at the top of that slippery slope, but wearing pretty slippy shoes, so he trusts the other, stretching out his arm, because it's almost impossible, even for the man who kept Alex Murphy alive and gave him a body, to bandage a wound with one hand.

He's not the neatest with tending wounds. He is not a docterrorist. But he is experienced with the basics of this, even if all such is primarily his own self, and even then he's more of the riding out ruling. So he makes sure to wrap it over wide as he can, tight, but not too tight. Just enough to stop the flow from a beast's sniffing it out as easy.

"THAT'S WHY AS HE KEEPS SAYING TO WATCH IT. That's why as he all said he knows what as he's talking on." But as he says it now, it's not with much energy. He hums as Dennet speaks on. Then, "YOU AIN'T GOING ALL TO LOSE YOUR THINKPAN FIRST CULL. Not motherfucking usually any damn way, I ain't know about you humans. YOU DO WHAT AS YOU NEED AT TO MOTHERFUCKING DO. Ain't figure culling your people is as to be a need of yours."

And with one more tug, it's looking done. "THERE, SHOULD BE FINE ENOUGH."

Dennett wouldn't expect much proper doctoring. He could bandage this himself, if it was on someone else's arm and if he had a complement of first aid equipment. But it's more than passable as a bandage.

"Right. Right. You're right. I mean, they wouldn't set something like that up for entertainment, would they?" Oh god, please, he's not in a mood to be let down.

He nods. "Thank you. Now...I guess we choose between drowning and sharks." Ever the optimist.

"Not if as you don't give for them the motherfucking idea," He says. Does that count as a let down? Sorry Dennet, his bad.

"NEW IDEA! How the fuck about trying to live? THEN SHARKS." Anything but drowning.

And it doesn't occur none at all to him, to think about nothing else but.

Like a shrieking frenzied rat all leaping down from on high for his neck.

Dennett muffles a curse. Really, he's almost agreeing with everyone else now, figuring the best course of action might actually be taping his mouth shut. If that ever happens, now he's going to blame himself, right here.

"Right. Live. Then sharks." That sounds terrible. But he doesn't have much of a choice, really, and he looks over at the churning sea, his gaze drawn back just in time to see brown fur and the flash of yellow, probably-diseased teeth.

His first thought was 'Christ, it's raining rats!' and his second was that that was probably a stupid thought even for this place. Then he kind of gave up thinking together, flailing at the thing, probably screaming just as loudly as the rat.

The beast don't even reach him. He feels Dennet hit him and then he's all on stumbling forward.

And there are screams.

He turns back sharp, eyes wide in disbelief. He almost scans the water first, looking for those oh so feared sharks, but it's not that at all, there's just a small thing. Maybe not small for a rat but smaller than a shark. It don't matter though, when teeth have gone piercing the right veins, pulling the wrong flow.

Dennet is flailing-- that ain't good. He grabs the motherfucker to make him still, just long enough to reach the beast, tear it off and free, then turn the fuck around and through it far and hard as he can into the water.

And then there's just seeing what got done. Please not a wound upon the throatstem, he prays.

It probably takes a pretty good grab to get Dennett still, which is a testament to the troll's reflexes, if nothing else, and suddenly the whole shark-killingthing seems a great deal more probable.

For a long moment, even after the screeching of the rat ends in a sudden 'plop' in the water, he can't quite pull himself together, hands clutched over his throat, trying not to hyperventilate. Even if he didn't have a phobia of rats....

He feels some warmth over his fingers, and squeezes his eyes shut. "T-tell me that's not red." Please. LIE TO HIM DAMMIT.

He can't. He can't lie. He doesn't ever lie, not ever.

He's not going to be able to just wrap a bandage upon this. This ain't just going to be ignorable neither. That's to much blood to just be some thing what was a simple brush.

"Dammit, the fuck did you do that for?" He says first. Shit. The motherfucker saved him. "I TOLD AS YOU TO MOTHERFUCKING-- FUCK!"

He grasps Dennet by the shoulders, guiding or forcing him to sit, whatever gets faster progress. His hands hover by that covered neck wound, not sure what to do. Oh Messiahs he is so fucking tired of trying to help people for it to come to this, he should've just motherfucking culled him to start.

He fires command, "Don't open your eyes. BREATHE. Tell on something what's being good and legit. WHAT ALL TAKES THE MIND OFF." He reaches carefully to pull Dennet's hand just enough away.

People have told Dennett that sometimes his bedside manner was maybe a little...less than optimally comforting. He may have run into someone even worse.

"What I did?" Hello, it was that feral, slavering, revolting, disease ridden RAT! "I was just trying to get that abomination off me!" And doing it...really poorly, by the evidence.

He tries to get some control over his breath but it's hard because is there some bubbling under there? "I'm...perfectly calm." He's also lying, but it's the kind of lie you tell yourself because you want to believe it.

And in that case he'd be right. His way of helping motherfuckers die was as like to, well, be culling them.

"You'll be fine. PUT ON A GOOD SHOW YOU UP AND DID, THEY'LL LIKE FOR THAT. You'll be made all good as new. MADE ALL AS TO RETURN LIKE NOTHING GOT TO HAPPEN." He hopes. There was a lot of shit what Capitol wouldn't like that Dennet got as to saying.

"It ain't a bad first. KEEP FOR THAT MOTHERFUCKING CALM AND IT'LL BE AS FALLING ASLEEP. He can help, if you is wanting." His hands stop trying to see that wound and rise to hovering on either side. He's good at this, just enough of his highblood's strength to be able to do proper good on the snap of a neck. And then because he guesses the motherfucker deserves some thanks, "YOU MOTHERFUCKING SAVED MY ASS. Got for my debt now."

Edited 2014-09-09 01:15 (UTC)

He's about to retort--as well as he can--that he doesn't care about putting on a good show for these sadists. But the other has a point, and has survived here far better than Dennett has, so he's going to swallow and nod and try not to look entirely pathetic.

He can smell the blood, at this point. He can smell the coppery tang of it even over the saltiness of the waves. He's figuring the blood is that bright red, arterial. Not a good thing. The absolute worst thing.

It was strange--a few minutes ago, he was afraid of the other turning on him, attacking him. And here, he... managed a nod. "Yes. Please. If you could." Maybe it wouldn't be as bad if he accepted it this way.

Permission. Aight. Here's to another fucking round of culling ones what he tried to keep alive.

"AIGHT. Won't hurt. PROMISE."

He reaches right around, more up to hold his face, careful with his claws so that shit ain't being to do no damage.

"Sorry," He says, low and quiet, enough so that cameras maybe won't hear. "YOU BEING READY? Can pray if all you's wanting."

Edited 2014-09-09 01:51 (UTC)

If he's right, Dennett will come back. And honestly, this was better than sharks. His hands are still on his throat, pathetically protective.

"Just...don't let the rats get me." Sure, he'll be dead, just meat at that point, but he has a horror that is far, far deeper than logic here.

His mouth opens. Then closes. He knows fear. He gets it more all than anybody, even if he ain't got his power here now.

"AIGHT. Sure motherfucking thing." There's only one way what to guarantee the rats won't find for his corpse.

Well, he'll just have to deal with seeing that replay done. Hopefully it ain't worse to him.

He grips Dennet's face and then, just like that, he delivers a sharp twist, snapping the bone and turning it all wronglike. Lights out.

Dennett knows. And he's not a fan of sharks--if his panicking about them earlier didn't make that clear. But sharks...well. You know what? He wasn't going to think about that, other than the fact that they weren't rats.

Maybe one of them would choke on a bone or something. He can hope.

"Thank you," he says--it's barely a whisper, because he's still not doing that breathing thing that well, because he could taste the blood in his throat now.

It is fast, a little shock of pain almost like a flash of lightning, and then everything went dark, like a light being turned off.

He waits, a moment or two, just to be sure this motherfucker is gone from here. He hums to himself, small prayer to Messiahs, and then?

Then he tears Dennet's head right free. He's reminded of his beach. When all he tore up the corpses for his Da to find, his old seagoat taking to the corpsemeat. Except maybe the sharks would be a little more motherfucking reliable than his Da was to be.

He tosses Dennet to the water, piece by piece, all the more blood to draw. Too much for him to stay here, if he's to live at least. He goes in search of some new path, making sure to dive under the next bit of flooded ship he sees to wash off the red.

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Mini Arena 2

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Dennet: self sacrifice opportunity is a go?

Sure thing! :D

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three comments from fifty, can we drag it for points? :')

I wasn't even keeping track, you are awesome

thank you, thank you /bows

Thank you for this thread, btw!

It was great fun c: Dennet is rad. Let us thread again soon. /gore warn