Can we pretend the airplanes in the sky

[actually112]

Who| Aang and YOU
What| Aang found a lot of looseleaf paper in the bookstore from people destroying biographies. He's turning it all into paper airplanes and letting them fly.
Where| Throughout the arena
When| The first half of week one.
Warnings/Notes| Maybe violence? Will add if more come.

Aang found a lot of pages fluttering on the bookstore floor. Pages he had no way of attaching to faces, sometimes not even names--pages with secrets and sadness and violence and joy. Delicately, uniformly printed, clearly by a master scribe. It's too bad to see them all alone and destroyed.

So he piled them in his backpack, regularly pulling pages out, folding them, and setting them free into the air. They looked a little like young flying airbenders, hidden by gliders too big for their bodies.

He threw them everywhere. On the moving stairs. From the banisters. Into stores. Through the ice rink.

Let the inked papers fly.

Comments

[twelvepercentofaplan]

One of those airplanes will find its way back to Aang, albeit with some...adjustments - a little wide flare around the nose, the tips of the wings folded up. Once it gets close to Aang, however, it takes a sharp turn through the air and crashes into the ground.

"Aw, man...!"

The voice came from the direction of the airplane, and belonged to a disappointed-looking man in really new-looking clothes from the nearby department store.

[actually112]

Aang grins before leaning down and picking the paper up, looking at the new design.

"You'd need to fold it differently. The wind will keep making it fall."

Paper, after all, was not the best building material and a shape that works for actual planes and rockets won't work for paper.

"Or maybe you could try throwing it differently. It could probably float."

[twelvepercentofaplan]

"Well, I'm twenty-something years out of practice," Quill answers as he steps forward with a shrug, then shoves his hands in his pockets. "Though I never was that good at it in the first place. Teachers kind of frowned on that kind of thing at school, so not much practice got put in." And it just wasn't as fun to do it at home where there wasn't the chance of getting in trouble.

[actually112]

"You did it in lessons too? I thought that was only Air Nomads." The little Air Nomads would sometimes be given folding materials to learn what shapes work best in the wind. It helps with their understanding.

He approaches the man, looking very nonchalant about approaching a far larger person during a death match.

"I can show you how we do it at home. We make the best paper gliders."

[mortuaria]

Demigods get a lot of projectiles launched their way: arrows, ballistae, greek fire, hydra venom, the occasional pile of monster poop. You learn to dodge quick if you value your life.

Nico can honestly say he has never dodged a....projectile paper air plane? He picks it up and stares at it incredulously, realizing that it's a page from one of those stupid books (not his, thankfully). He turns and shoots an irritated look at the source. "Seriously? You're throwing paper airplanes?"

[actually112]

"Is that what you call them where you come from?"

Aang already has another page out, folding it against his stomach.

"We call them paper gliders."

[mortuaria]

Nico stoops to pick up the page and unfolds it to check it out. Thankfully it's not from "his" book, but the letters make his head ache.

"Yes," he says, crumpling it up and going over to toss it in a garbage can. "But whatever you call them, you're making yourself an easy target."

[iflipmyhair]

One of those airplanes will not get far. A mere few yards away, it would be caught with one hand, which Homura brought down to look at it. One of the books. She had no idea which one - just that it wasn't hers, and she didn't care.

"Thank you for the kindling," She said casually, as she put the paper in her pocket. "Newcomer."

Because he was clearly a newcomer. Someone she'd never seen, until now.

[actually112]

Kindling?

Well, that's one way to use the paper, he guesses. "Isn't that a waste? A scribe probably worked really hard on that."

Then again, everyone had already ruined the scribe's work, through destroying the books and folding them up, so a fire is as good a use as any.

[iflipmyhair]

"No." She flipped her hair. "I can assure you no one worked hard on these books. If you read them, you would understand how such a conclusion could be reached."

[cassidykept]

Tom doesn't sleep deeply, and he can't imagine he will until he's either won this ridiculous game or is dead. Every sound could be someone approaching to slit his throat with a knife. His eyes snap open when he hears someone not far from him, across the store, perhaps. He holds the knife he's gotten from the sporting goods store close and listens.

He doesn't expect to hear laughter. He peers across the sales floor.

It's a boy who can't be older than thirteen, perhaps even younger. Something in Tom finds this whole thing a bit wretched, knowing that his competitors range from musclebound superheroes (his typical foes) to children younger than Theresa was before he sent her to boarding school. It's crass. It's, to use a word that Tom doesn't have much taste for, morally reprehensible.

So he sees his next action as some sort of benevolent fatherliness. As charity. He emerges from the cove of books and shelves he's made a home in and talks to the boy.

"You're going to attract attention doing that."

[actually112]

Aang looks to the sound of Tom's voice, seeming completely relaxed as he threw another airplane through the air. He's good at making them--they get very good mileage.

"That means more people to make gliders with me, right?" He's not stupid. He knows that this place is dangerous. He's just decided that he's not going to give their jailers what they want; instead, he would enjoy himself and try his best to get others to do so as well. "Do you want to fly some paper gliders?"

[cassidykept]

Tom raises an eyebrow and rubs his hand over his goatee (he's sure that, by the end of this Arena, it will be a completely unkempt disaster). Aang may not be stupid, but Tom's already under the impression that he's either a bit slow or delusionally optimistic.

"I'd rather not be around to witness your bloody demise, honestly." It's not as if Tom would step in to intervene, but it's just a bit distasteful. "And at the very least, I'd rather you not get killed so close to where I'm shacking up."

[revvinguptheharley]

A squeal of delight could be heard from one of the lower levels as the paper airplane took flight.

Down on the first floor a woman dressed like some kind of fancy clown was dancing as the plane fluttered through the air. She had a belt made up of plush dolls and her skirt was flowing around her as she chased the airplane. When she saw who had thrown it she waved cheerfully. Her face was caked in white with black lipstick and a mask of some sort.

She seemed nice enough. Clearly she wanted more airplanes.

[actually112]

Aang looked down over the banister, giving her a big smile and a wave before throwing another paper glider into the air, then another and another. He's good at making them--they get good mileage and arc down gracefully.

He'd never seen anyone dressed like this woman, but he hadn't seen a lot of things before coming here. It was interesting, and she seemed to like his gliders.

[revvinguptheharley]

She let out a whoop of laughter an in a flash she was dashing across the tile. She bent low and sprang into the air at a pillar, flipping and kicking off it to snag one of the planes out of the air.

Her hand caught on a banner with the Capitol's logo on it and the force of her flight swung her around another pillar where she released and sling shot herself higher so she could snag the second airplane and land gracefully on the banister only ten feet away from Aang.

"Ta Da!" She declared. It seemed that fate would have none of that though as her high heeled boot slipped and she let out a yelp. Her arms wind milled in the air for a moment before she pitched off the banister coming to a crash landing on the floor. It was lucky at least she didn't go over the other side or she would have fallen all the way back down to the tile floor below.

[keep_surviving]

"Nice tats."

A beautiful older teen stands not too far away from him, holding one of his planes in her hands. She flashes him a pretty smile and with a flick of her wrist she sends that paper flying back towards him.

"I'm guessing you didn't have to get parental permission for those?"

[actually112]

"Thanks!"

He has to jump to catch the airplane again. He hasn't quite hit puberty yet, so he's still pretty short.

"My people don't have parents. I just needed my masters' approval before I got them." He throws the plan back towards the mystery lady. It honestly doesn't occur to him how odd it might sound to say that a people don't have parents--to an Air Nomad, parents and family units are just curious structures that other cultures have. "They mean that I've mastered airbending."

[keep_surviving]

She lets the plane float back into her hands.

"Well, that's opened up a bunch of questions so I'm just going to cover them all with a 'what'?"

[deafscythe]

One of the airplanes hits (Justin Law, Death Scythe in charge of Western Europe, the Explosive Executioner) an Avox. He's almost nondescript for Panem, with pale skin and blond hair and blue eyes (the eyes stand out, as the Avox walks over and hands the glider back to Aang, because they're the same empty blue as the sky, without any visible pupils). He says nothing, just keeps his eyes fixed on Aang's chest as he offers the glider back to the boy. That in itself is a small rebellion, but not really one worth noting.

[actually112]

"Thank you."

Aang has yet to understand what Avoxes are yet. He doesn't know why they don't talk to him, figuring that they're just told not to, or perhaps they're antisocial.

But he appreciates the gesture, even if the person with the yellow hair and strange Water Tribe eyes is very quiet about it. He takes the paper glider back, giving the man a warm smile.

"Do you want to make gliders with me?"

[deafscythe]

There's a pause that might be interpreted as awkwardness or shyness but is really more a weighing of options. He cannot refuse a direct order, but Avoxes are not permitted opinions (and he doesn't really have much interest in building gliders), so there's just a moment of pause, then a tilt of the head that could mean anything but could be easily seen as agreement.

[aboveangrybees]

Steve notices one of those planes gliding through the air in his general direction. It's so unexpected that he can't stop the small smile from gracing his features, though there's something sad and wistful about it. He remembers making them with Bucky when they were young, when they got bored and Steve was stuck in bed.

It moves to decline in it's flight, so he steps forward and catches it before it collides with the ground. With it in hand, he looks up to find the source, seeing the same odd kid from the cornucopia.

"You again," he arches up an eyebrow. "Not really much for subtlety, are you?" Not a criticism. Steve isn't much for it either.

[actually112]

Aang perks up to see the familiar man. He already has the makings of another paper airplane, folding it against his stomach

"Do I look like a subtle person to you?" He's bald with arrow tattoos. He is aware that he sticks out like a sore thumb.

He makes the next glider easily, but he doesn't throw it yet. "I forgot to ask for your name before."

[aboveangrybees]

"Suppose you don't," Steve gives an amused smile at the sassing the boy gives him for his comment. And really, he deserves it, because the boy is definitely anything but subtle, but with the crowd of people around here, he'd say the boy doesn't stick out as much as he might once have.

"Steve Rogers, though Steve is just fine," he rarely adds his title around here. Not like it makes much difference in the long run. "And how about you? You got a name?"