ARENA 11-PaneMall

[etcircenses]

It’s pre-dawn when the Tributes are roused from their beds and sent to their tubes. Those who’d been imprisoned for the past few weeks had their heads covered before transport to the staging area, and there’s an air of confusion surrounding just about everything that’s happening until the stylists and managers arrive on the scene and try to calm everyone down. The reunions may be happy, but they're sadly very temporary.

The first clue that something strange is happening comes from their clothing: figure skating costumes with bright colors and sequins and ice skates strapped to their feet. Some may even find it difficult to stand with the blades on their feet, but as they're placed into the arena, all becomes clear. The mall skating rink seems quiet and quaint, especially after weeks of uncertainty and stress. Too bad the peace and quiet can’t last.

20

19

18...

Above the ice rink (which houses all 100+ Tributes) there are floors with shops looking over them. Large, bright fluorescent lights dot the multi-storied ceiling and create a warm, nostalgic glow to the place. Benign music is piped in from various hidden speakers to compliment the intended mood of fun and commerce.

17

16

15…

The countdown continues and the Tributes, some of whom haven’t seen each other in weeks, stare at one another helplessly. That is, until one of them boldly decides to speak.

"We're expected to fight here today," Steve's voice suddenly cuts through the tension in the room. It commands attention without demanding it, a conviction of truth in his tone.

14

13

12...


"To turn on each other through fear and self preservation. And we could give them what they want. A bloodbath," here he pauses longer, lets the reality of his statements sink in. Let people realize what he's saying, that this is a choice.

"Or we can choose not to fight. To instead work together," an option so many seem not to even realize they have. "No one here has to die by our hands today," he knows his speaking won't be without consequence, but he does want to believe he'll be the only one to pay for this.

"This is a risk. One many of you are hesitant to trust, let alone take. But everything we do here is a risk to ourselves and those around us," nothing in the arena comes without putting your life on the line.

"I, for one, am willing to take this risk, to choose not to fight," Steve looks around the room, making eye contact with a few people as he does. He's not telling anyone what to do, this is for them to decides for themselves; their freedom of choice.

But he's got faith in the his fellow tributes. "And I've got a feeling I'm not alone.”

… 3

2

1…

After the countdown ends, there’s a moment of utter still and silence. Then...

BOOOOOOOOOOOM

The room seems to erupt with noise and concussive force. The explosions are so violent that the muzak is paused in its tracks and shakes some of the Tributes off of their pedestals, and after the ice fog and smoke clears, it becomes apparent that fifteen of the Tribute pedestals and exploded there on the ice rink. Fifteen corpses lie mangled on the bloody ice: Deanna Winchester, Danny Fenton, Fili, Kili, Kain Highwind, Perry Kelvin, Julian Bashir, Clint Barton, Karkat Vantas, Sirius Black, Rahm Kota, Cinderella, Bunnymund, Robin, Rock Lee, and Rokk Krin.

The center of the ice rink remains completely intact and stocked with a few dozen keys of varying shapes and sizes. This is the Cornucopia and the Gamemakers are compelling the Tributes to skate for it.

The gong rings out, and the countdown's voice announces “The Arena is now open.” The Games have begun.

Comments

[onthelii2p]

For all his dread of the arena to come, Sollux still felt surprised when it finally happened. There hadn't been enough warning, and he didn't know what to expect, and god, he was going to have to fight or die or kill or something he felt vastly, vastly unprepared for. The one comfort was that he couldn't hear the voices anymore. They were constant before, but having to hear all who were going to die in the Hunger Games was more than he could stand to think about.

And what was with the costumes? Sollux found himself stuck in some godawful, orangey-brown monstrosity, but worse were the skates. He'd never skated in his life, much less on ice, and it was a struggle just to stay upright. Once on his pedestal, sent up into the arena, the only thing that managed to keep him from falling was an awkward stance of bracing his knees against each other. He wanted to kneel, but didn't want to risk falling off from the movement.

Even then, he couldn't stop from looking around. He needed to know his surroundings if he wanted to know where to go, but the sheer number of other tributes distracted him first. There were so many, more than he realized, more than he could ever hope to recognize (which he very, very much didn't). And - some asshole was giving a speech? The sound reached him, drifting in, but he paid it no more mind than it demanded by hitting his ears. Something about solidarity - it sounded stupidly hopeful.

Worse was the countdown. That held him, drawing up his dread as it ticked down closer and closer. On the two his eyes caught on a pair of short, stubby horns; one it counted again, then silence...

Then explosion. Before Sollux could process everything, could fully wonder when the hell Karkat got here or why he never spoke to him, his friend blew up in full view. It was only a second later that the rumbling aftershock sent him tumbling face-first to the ice.

From there he wasted no time. No time to mourn, no time to question, and he didn't even bother to get to his feet. Instead he set to crawling across the ice, shuffling on hands and knees as quick as he could, even as he cursed the cold of it. He needed out of the rink now.

[voodoocarnival]

Confusion at the outfits was followed by confusion at the skates, and the tubes and pedestals, and finally by the arena itself being, on first glance, an actual skating arena.

Of course it was bigger than that on a second sweep, but the initial thought of a deathmatch with so many people and half of them flailing around on the skates like decapitated cluckbeasts was amusing enough to distract from the countdown, from the speech, for a few moments, at least.

The last several moments were spent scanning the other tributes for any familiar faces. Sure, he'd holed up in his room fairly exclusively after the fiasco of an "investigation" but the potential for there being people he knew here, too, was enough to get Kurloz looking for them.

And then the explosion hit, and he wasn't quite sure anymore if he wanted people he knew to be here after all, but he still scanned the (now more horrified faces) a bit quicker for someone, anyone.

Double horns, bicolored eyes, a clumsy fall right onto the face and that wasn't his yellowblooded idiot (Messiah bless), but it was close enough, and he was crawling, so clearly he needed help.

With little more thought than that, Kurloz was off his pedestal, gliding over the ice around blasted out pieces and chunks of people he would never know while avoiding so much as glancing at the details - no checking for grey skin or splatters of color or broken horn, not when he had to get that idiot off his hands and knees as soon as possible.

And maybe the tunnel vision was serving as a distraction.

Still, he slid to a stop in front of the crawling troll and crouched down in front of him, tried to appear as nonthreatening as a highblood could manage in a deathmatch, offering his hands palm-up for Sollux to take.

[onthelii2p]

Progress was slow going. The ice was slick and his hands had started to hurt from the chill of it on his skin. He was a lowblood, lucky to be warmer than some, but that conversely made the cold stand out all the more. His costume wasn't built for traction, and more than once his knee slid out from under him. When someone skated up - of course some people would know how to do this - he couldn't even pretend to be surprised.

He didn't care to look who it was. What mattered was that less than halfway out of the rink someone had found and caught him, and if he didn't move he'd probably be dead. Hands shoved the ice and he rocked backward until he was outright on his back; his legs scrambled up, lifting skate-clad feet into the air. It was far from elegant, but it put his back in a safer spot and put the one weapon he had in position to use, should the situation mandate.

That was when he finally bothered to look.

The person crouched before him wasn't a human, and held far from any hostile pose. Hands out and empty, body language nonthreatening, it caught him wholly off guard. But the hair and the horns - those he knew, and had seen well enough.

His eyebrows drew in. "Initiate?"

He'd only seen him over the network before, not long enough to solidify what details might have differentiated them, save for one thing: the Initiate didn't have his mouth stitched shut. That, beyond the base fact that they were in the arena, kept him firmly in the same pose.

[voodoocarnival]

He might have laughed at the ridiculous defensive position Sollux had gotten himself into if this wasn't a serious moment and if they weren't in serious danger - if not from the other tributes, for one reason or another (though he doubted that everyone present was good-natured enough to not start picking off the others) then from the game makers themselves. If those podiums had been rigged to explode for no reason other than the potential to be used, then what else was lurking about ready to strike them down?

He didn't especially want to find out.

The mistaken identity, though, did get Sollux rolled eyes and a shake of the head. Really. They weren't all that similar. Their paint was different. And Initiate was taller, had more hair, was more of a shit altogether. But he supposed he could be forgiven, if only for the sake of just getting him off the mother fuckin ice.

The temptation to just grab him by the ankles and drag him away was a strong one, but for the moment, Sollux would be met with a deadpan stare and a continued offering of helpful hands.

[onthelii2p]

Well he wasn't Gamzee. Sollux could recognize that much. And when the Initiate's strange speech patterns were far from the best way to learn about Beforus, it was easy to bypass the fact that there was a third Makara. Now with the rolled eyes and shake of the head, though, he was wondering again at that info.

Even if Kurloz could speak, this wasn't the time to start asking questions. It didn't look like he was going to leave, either.

"Leave me," he hissed. He didn't want to fight, not now, not yet, but he jabbed a skate forward in the air - not a real attack, too small, too weak - as quiet threat. It was ridiculous; he had to look as scared as he felt, from the set of his lips to the crease of his brow, to say nothing of his continued position. "I don't want help!"

It didn't matter that Kurloz's posture showed no threat. No matter how genuine, how sincere, he meant exactly what he said. Help meant people he'd have to lose eventually, or who might have to kill him. This whole game was set up for drama and tension, and he wanted no more hurt than there had to be. Even if he was the one who died first, which wasn't unthinkable at all when he had no powers, that would be a hurt to an ally. Even if he couldn't use his double sight, he was still Mage of Doom. He couldn't let go of their looming end.

[voodoocarnival]

No, he wasn't Gamzee, and Sollux is lucky that observation wasn't a verbal one, because what an insult that would have been indeed.

But his assessment at his intention to not leave (without him) was also correct. Even if Sollux seemed more interested in flailing around on his back like some sort of chittering bug, all scared and useless. But that was the fastest way he'd be killed, really, and while he didn't especially care what Sollux did off the ice, it would be beyond disgraceful for him to be killed without even being able to drag his sorry corpse out of the first stage.

Dead. Gone. Killed right off in level 1.

So, despite any halfhearted kicking skates, he decided that there wasn't time to wait for Sollux to decide that help would be an okay thing to have, and instead he edged close enough to loop his fingers through the blades of his skates. Sure, it put him in a little more danger if he kicked especially hard, but taking a sharp edge to the palm was better than taking one to the face, which was more likely to happen if he tried to drag Sollux by the torso instead.

So now the ball was resoundingly in his court - be humiliatingly dragged off the ice like some useless sack of shit? Or actually accept help.

Capitol drama be damned.

[onthelii2p]

What was with this troll? Sollux couldn't understand it. The Initiate had told him why he wanted to help, but asking obviously wasn't an option here. What had happened to that guy's mouth, anyway? Why stitch it shut? It looked too deliberate to brush it off.

More important for now, though, was the passage of time. The longer he stayed her the more he'd make a target of himself, he was certain. Getting away on his own wouldn't be easy, and definitely not quick.

In spite of his words any his actions, though, this guy wasn't leaving him. When he went to grab the blades of his skates, it startled him too much for him to react. That more than anything spoke clearly. He couldn't be so stupid as to think he couldn't be hurt like this; it had to be deliberate, and unspoken I'm-helping-no-matter-what.

It was bizarre.

"Fine." He wasn't happy. He still didn't want this. "Drag me wherever you're taking me. If I try to get up I'm jutht going to fall all over mythelf and make uth take twithe ath long."

Humiliation was relative. He was already stuck in a godawful costume of sequins and shiny fabric, had already fallen on his face like an idiot, and was stuck in the powerless position of being in a murder game for the entertainment of humans he'd never met. He could bear with this if it got him somewhere safer.

[voodoocarnival]

True to legendary Captor form, Sollux gave up on resisting sooner, rather than later, so it was a small blessing that he did not have Mituna's resistance to giving up that might have actually gotten one of them hurt. No declarations of 'Fuck it!' no one final flail, just a quiet acceptance of the help.

So Kurloz couldn't help but smile down at him and give him a bit of a nod as he dragged him by the skates to the edge of the rink, around bodies and chunks of bodies (though he couldn't quite keep from dragging Sollux through the odd puddle of blood, an effort was made to avoid those, too). A door was found soon enough, and then it was a relatively simple matter of bending down to offer Sollux a hand one last time - for now - so he might help him to his feet.

Actually stepping off the ice seemed a little better than crawling off it, after all, at least to him.

[onthelii2p]

Even if agreeing wasn't what he wanted, it was better than forcing the both of them to wait around until someone came to kill them. His arms crossed over his chest as Kurloz started dragging, mouth set in a frown and head turned just to the side. It was an imposition, the whole thing - something he had to put up with.

But as he slid along, indignation and humiliation soon shifted to nausea and sickly fear. There really had been explosions, not just one but several here and there, and every spot of red reminded him of Karkat. He eyes shut tight before long; he didn't want to risk seeing grey skin charring black, broken bits of horn, anything like his friend. The feel of cold, coagulating blood on his costume made his digestion sack roil enough without the visual.

It was only once the dragging stopped and stayed stopped that he dared open an eye. He saw a door, and this whoever-it-was holding out a hand again. This time he took it, and with press of the other on the ice, slowly levered himself upright.

Once on his feet, he promptly wobbled a couple steps to the side to vomit.

"Fuck." He coughed, waited to be certain his stomach wasn't going to try again, then wiped his mouth off with the back of a gaudy sleeve.

A visible tremble shook his arms, his shoulders; it wasn't from the cold, or not the cold alone, but all that happened. It wasn't the death on its own, which was far from new for a troll and a prophet of doom. But to see his friend explode before him, to have it all hit so sudden, to be dragged through and feel the blood growing sticky against his back...

He didn't have anyone to save to push him through this time, no other chaos or distraction to take his mind off it. They were here to die, all of them but one, and no way to stop it.

"I," he said, trying to turn without slipping. He bit his lip. "Thank you." He didn't know what better to offer.

[voodoocarnival]

Fortunately, it seemed that the others around were more concerned with the explosion and the keys out in the middle of the ice than they were with a pair of lollygagging trolls. This time. For now.

And at least Sollux was easy enough to drag along the ice, though Kurloz winced whenever he had to drag him through a bloody puddle, knowing that had to be unpleasant at best, though getting from point A to point B rang a little more important than going out of his way to avoid everything awful - or pausing to give apologetic glances. At least until he was helping Sollux up and off the ice.

And promptly looking away to offer some sort of privacy as he proceeded to spew yellow all over the ground.

The trembling hit a little too close to home, though, rang of a motherfucker what couldn't quite help but shake sometimes, and Sollux would find steadying hands on his upper arms before the chance to deny it was even given, contact broken just long enough for him to turn, but then resumed straight away.

The thanks got a nod, though, before a questioning look followed on its heels - did he need help getting somewhere he could rip the skates off his feet? Did he all need a motherfucker to be getting his stay on with him until he composed himself well enough to carry on his way?

[onthelii2p]

The hands were unwelcome. How dare this freak touch him like they were friends? But Sollux knew just as much that he needed the steadying, would likely slip into the puddle of his own sick if he wasn't careful, and he already knew how stubborn this guy was.

And that look - why did he have to look at him that way? It made him felt weird, helpless and pathetic, with a sort of sick feeling different than the physical nausea of just a moment ago. He shrugged his shoulders in attempt to shed his hands, then stepped toward the door.

"I'll be fine. Onthe I'm on real flooring I can take thethe thtupid thingth off. You're not going to follow me everywhere, are you?" he asked, and the look he gave him was almost worried. He didn't want that.

[voodoocarnival]

There would be time later for bitching about over-familiarity, but for the moment Sollux did well to just give in to the stubborn clown and let him help him stand, and help him off the ice.

Because he sure wasn't letting go until Sollux was standing steadily on his own.

The thought had occurred to Kurloz to follow after the (useless? probably useless.) other troll, but he could tell where he wasn't wanted, so he simply offered Sollux a smile and a shake of the head. No, he wasn't going to follow him everywhere. But he was definitely going to linger about, at least until the skates were off.

[onthelii2p]

A shake of the head would have to be enough, given the obvious communication impediment. It conveyed the idea. It just wasn't verbose. It didn't stop him from looking back periodically as he got off the ice, wobbled down to sit, and started to untie the laces of his skates. Helpful though this guy way, Sollux couldn't bring himself to trust him.

Once the skates are off, he threads his fingers through the laces to carry them - no sense losing something with blades on the ends - and stands up.

What's he supposed to do? Just go? Say something? He feels gross and awkward, and eventually he settles for a, "I'm going now," and turns to leave.

Maybe after the arena he can talk to this guy again, or at least figure out what his deal is.