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thearena2014-08-18 09:38 pm
etcircenses) wrote in thearena2014-08-18 09:38 pm
Entry tags:
- ! arena 11,
- aang,
- albert heinrich,
- bucky barnes (mcu),
- cassandra marko,
- clara murphy,
- commander shepard,
- harley quinn,
- jet link,
- molotov cocktease,
- sigma klim,
- the grand highblood,
- the signless,
- ✘ alex murphy,
- ✘ astrid hofferson,
- ✘ brainiac 5,
- ✘ bruce banner,
- ✘ bucky barnes (616),
- ✘ carlos the scientist,
- ✘ clementine,
- ✘ dave strider,
- ✘ dennett norton,
- ✘ donatello,
- ✘ edward nygma,
- ✘ elsa,
- ✘ eridan ampora,
- ✘ hiccup,
- ✘ homura akemi,
- ✘ joel,
- ✘ justin hammer,
- ✘ kankri vantas,
- ✘ kurloz makara,
- ✘ mindy macready,
- ✘ nasir,
- ✘ natasha romanoff,
- ✘ peggy carter,
- ✘ pruna,
- ✘ rocket raccoon,
- ✘ ruffnut thorston,
- ✘ skye,
- ✘ sollux captor,
- ✘ steve rogers,
- ✘ tess,
- ✘ tony stark
ARENA 11-PaneMall
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
2
1…
After the countdown ends, there’s a moment of utter still and silence. Then...
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.
Starbucks is awesome
Over, under, pull it tight...
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Ow. Ow, fucking-- ouch. Now she does wince, and takes a long, slow breath. Focus, a few minutes of disassociation is exactly what they don't need right now.
"Take your time," never let it be said that her sense of humor ever suffered.
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Now for the other shoelace...
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Easy, Shepard. This is Donatello. He's not here to hurt you, he's trying to help.
"It's not my first time," not her first broken hand, not the first time it'd been broken this badly, or...nearly this badly, really. Not her first round of torture, not her first brush with post-trauma stress, "Thanks. For sticking by me, I mean, I know it's not really the same."
Sometimes that got to her; the other Shepard. The one Donatello had known. Had he been better friends with her? Had she been so very different? Jane didn't know.
"Have you got a plan, from here out?"
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And he didn't want to say that he'd lost Jane Shepard to the Capitol twice. No matter who Jane was.
"Well, I was thinking of maybe going for the gold this time."
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"Really?"
Nailed it.
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"Really."
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And the biggest weak point of it all was herself- she let it go in a long breath, watching him work. Can't talk about it, not anywhere, certainly not here. It was easier that way; she could blame The Rules for what felt like cowardice, but a good commander knew the difference between expedience and necessity.
"I'm not going to tell you what to do, Don. Everyone here has the right to do whatever they think is best to get what they need," To get out from under the yoke, in whatever fashion they thought possible. After all, could she criticize Don's motivations in the face of injuries brought on by her own sense of desperation? "I just think it's stupid to run away. It's more important to look at where you're going. And how you'll get there."
Ten arenas-- or eleven. Donatello knew what it meant to win. Knew what it would mean, when it came down to one, or two, or three people left. He could look at people like Enjolras and decide for himself if the prize was real, or worth pursuing. It was all just such a damn waste.
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He's been one of those three people left, once. He chose to stay. He let another win. And that Victor died horribly, publicly. The woman, one of them, responsible was dead. He cursed himself in the knowledge that he hadn't even given it a shot. He wouldn't have objected to destroying Penny himself.
He knew that it didn't matter, if he won or lost. To be a Victor or a Tribute, the result was the same. He would be a prisoner. The look on his face betrayed that he knew this. But he didn't know what else to do now. He just knew he didn't necessarily want to keep dying. Dying, and being brought back, only to see more people die...him going mad, or paranoid he was losing his mind...seeing people he cared for gone, replaced, only for them to be gone themselves.
He knew, if he did win, if he did end up at the last moment of the Arena, that he would face that choice again. To let another become a Victor, and risk them being killed for good when the Capitol grew tired of them or they made a slip-up. Or to end up like that himself.
Who knew how the "odds" looked at him anymore.
"There." With one final, firm and tight double knot, he was done. "That should keep the hand in place."
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She touched the brace, turned it over, and nodded. It was good, tight and firm. It would hold, at least as long as it took to find something better; it'd have to. She glanced up and away at some small motion in the shadows, perhaps that of a Tribute-- but there was nothing, so it was back to Don's face. He looked like death, both in himself, and coming for him.
"Since you're serious, I owe you one warning: you harm my crew, I will come after you. Even if you do win, Don, even in the Capitol. Do you understand me?"
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If there was one person in the Capitol among the Tributes that he knew would back up such a threat - aside from Sigma, at least - it was Shepard. Not that he had intended to go out of his way to harm her or anyone on her crew. Not intentionally, at least.
Meanwhile, he watched her check the brace.
"It should hold for the present. But if you can get a first aid kit..."
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And then, he was gone.