Dr. S. Klim (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thearena2014-09-10 09:00 am
futilecycle) wrote in thearena2014-09-10 09:00 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN] The power's out in the heart of man
Who | Sigma and the Initiate; Sigma and you!
What | Sigma decides enough is enough and starts a bonfire outside of Chapter One.
When | Week 2 and 3.
Where | Chapter One bookstore.
Warnings/Notes | Mentions of serious injury. To be added.
[OPEN]
Sigma was nearing the end of his considerable patience for this Arena.
The cover of his biography alone had given Sigma a terrible start: -Confessions of a Gamemaker, as poorly written and uninspired as the title suggested- and he'd hidden himself in the back of the store to read it cover to cover, eager to discover what dirt the Capitol had on him. What he found disturbed him wholly. He understood the spin: Sigma was an unattractive old man with a small handful of fans, most of whom had moved on to more interesting Tributes before long. But his confession had sparked interest, drawn those who loved the idea of Games in a world other than theirs, and thus this piece of trash had come to be. He wondered if these books would be made public, published in Capitol bookstores - or worse, narrated dramatically during the broadcast. A sensationalist interpretation of his life was one thing, but spreading lies about Diana when she might still be alive... He couldn't begin to express his disgust at such slander. Sigma clenched what remained of his right hand until metal ground into metal and screeched. Facade be damned, he was going to burn every last one of these.
It did not take long to gather a stack of them into a pile and ready the fire starting kit he had received. He did not think to comb the store for more copies, only emptying the ones on display and dousing them in an excessive amount of gin. The inferno was loud and immediate, rising tall as it burned the paper to ash. Sigma sat near the blaze and waited, warming himself. This would no doubt draw attention - that suited him. He was looking for a fight, half a man that he was, lumbering about the Arena with only one hand left and no sensation in it. Yes, it might be nice to give up, here...
As the fire spread, Sigma covered his eyes with his sleeves to shield his grief. He did not want to admit that there was a piece missing from his life, a connection between himself, Diana and Phi that he was not privy to. There was evidence contrary to what these books believed, and Sigma could only cling to it helplessly for reassurance. He didn't want to consider the implications if such an outrageous guess turned out to be true.
[Sigma and the Initiate]
Recovering from a traumatizing ordeal, Sigma continued to tremble long after he'd escaped from Harley. He'd retreated to a far corner of the mall to survey the damage the grenade had wrought: his left hand had been blown clean off, breaking his wrist into a sharp metal stub. Traces of charred skin clung to the back of his right hand, but as sluggish as the damaged skeleton was, it was usable, to Sigma's great relief. The injuries his coat concealed were far worse: his chest was soaked in blood from shrapnel that had rained down on him, both from the grenade casing and from splinters that had once been the bones of his hand.
In shock, Sigma collapsed against the wall and waited to calm, completely overwhelmed. It took a long hour before he could gather the strength to make it down to the lockers. Sponsor gifts waited there, as he had suspected: his villain speech had drawn some interest from the wealthy, after all. He surveyed his supplies: a fire starting kit, a crowbar, and a bottle of gin. ...So it wasn't exactly what he had anticipated, but he would make it work.
Sigma stole some clothes from a nearby store and ripped them into shreds for gauze. He unbuttoned the jacket that had nearly melted onto his skin and shrugged it off to expose his injuries. Holding his breath, Sigma attempted to pour gin over his injured shoulder - his shaking and crippled hand spilled a quarter of the bottle onto the ground. Sigma cursed; he couldn't rub a soaked cloth onto his wounds if it would force the metal deeper, but he couldn't pick out the shrapnel with a broken hand. He'd find help, or he'd suffer. Pulling a clean woolen jacket over his shoulders, Sigma gave in to despair and huddled there.
What | Sigma decides enough is enough and starts a bonfire outside of Chapter One.
When | Week 2 and 3.
Where | Chapter One bookstore.
Warnings/Notes | Mentions of serious injury. To be added.
[OPEN]
Sigma was nearing the end of his considerable patience for this Arena.
The cover of his biography alone had given Sigma a terrible start: -Confessions of a Gamemaker, as poorly written and uninspired as the title suggested- and he'd hidden himself in the back of the store to read it cover to cover, eager to discover what dirt the Capitol had on him. What he found disturbed him wholly. He understood the spin: Sigma was an unattractive old man with a small handful of fans, most of whom had moved on to more interesting Tributes before long. But his confession had sparked interest, drawn those who loved the idea of Games in a world other than theirs, and thus this piece of trash had come to be. He wondered if these books would be made public, published in Capitol bookstores - or worse, narrated dramatically during the broadcast. A sensationalist interpretation of his life was one thing, but spreading lies about Diana when she might still be alive... He couldn't begin to express his disgust at such slander. Sigma clenched what remained of his right hand until metal ground into metal and screeched. Facade be damned, he was going to burn every last one of these.
It did not take long to gather a stack of them into a pile and ready the fire starting kit he had received. He did not think to comb the store for more copies, only emptying the ones on display and dousing them in an excessive amount of gin. The inferno was loud and immediate, rising tall as it burned the paper to ash. Sigma sat near the blaze and waited, warming himself. This would no doubt draw attention - that suited him. He was looking for a fight, half a man that he was, lumbering about the Arena with only one hand left and no sensation in it. Yes, it might be nice to give up, here...
As the fire spread, Sigma covered his eyes with his sleeves to shield his grief. He did not want to admit that there was a piece missing from his life, a connection between himself, Diana and Phi that he was not privy to. There was evidence contrary to what these books believed, and Sigma could only cling to it helplessly for reassurance. He didn't want to consider the implications if such an outrageous guess turned out to be true.
[Sigma and the Initiate]
Recovering from a traumatizing ordeal, Sigma continued to tremble long after he'd escaped from Harley. He'd retreated to a far corner of the mall to survey the damage the grenade had wrought: his left hand had been blown clean off, breaking his wrist into a sharp metal stub. Traces of charred skin clung to the back of his right hand, but as sluggish as the damaged skeleton was, it was usable, to Sigma's great relief. The injuries his coat concealed were far worse: his chest was soaked in blood from shrapnel that had rained down on him, both from the grenade casing and from splinters that had once been the bones of his hand.
In shock, Sigma collapsed against the wall and waited to calm, completely overwhelmed. It took a long hour before he could gather the strength to make it down to the lockers. Sponsor gifts waited there, as he had suspected: his villain speech had drawn some interest from the wealthy, after all. He surveyed his supplies: a fire starting kit, a crowbar, and a bottle of gin. ...So it wasn't exactly what he had anticipated, but he would make it work.
Sigma stole some clothes from a nearby store and ripped them into shreds for gauze. He unbuttoned the jacket that had nearly melted onto his skin and shrugged it off to expose his injuries. Holding his breath, Sigma attempted to pour gin over his injured shoulder - his shaking and crippled hand spilled a quarter of the bottle onto the ground. Sigma cursed; he couldn't rub a soaked cloth onto his wounds if it would force the metal deeper, but he couldn't pick out the shrapnel with a broken hand. He'd find help, or he'd suffer. Pulling a clean woolen jacket over his shoulders, Sigma gave in to despair and huddled there.
no subject
He gestures to the flame. "At least the fire is cathartic," Sigma laughs, a small but genuine smile sprouting on his lips. "You know, if you wanted your books burned, I wouldn't mind assisting you." It's his first attempt at a joke in a long time.
no subject
Still she can smile, and offer a shrug with one shoulder. You're alright, Doc.
"Appreciate the help. If we're gonna be hanging out with this dead giveaway bonfire, might as well make it useful, yeah?"