thearena | A point to prove

Entry tags:

A point to prove

Who| Pruna and Albert
What| The torture and subsequent death of Albert
Where| Employer corridors and a bathroom
When| After Clementine's death before alarm hell
Warnings/Notes| Death obviously, physical torture, drowning. Pruna's messed up ideas of strength and weakness.

Explosions were a new strange thing that Pruna had learned about in this world, they facinated her when she wasn't actually caught in them. How everything blew out from the centre and it killed and destroyed. She wondered if people could explode, because that's what it felt like she was about to do. The tightness of her chest had became painful and the emptiness was hard to find.

Clementine was dead. Pruna shouldn't care. They were in the arena. People were supposed to die. Only the strongest could survive. It was the whole point. People died, they came back. It was no big deal. Except sometimes they didn't. But Pruna knew now that that sent them to their worlds, with no memories of what had happened here.

It made no sense, nothing made any sense. It was all stupid. Mindy had been so angry and Mindy was supposed to be sensible. Mindy had killed her once, she killed lots. She knew that that was what you were supposed to do. Why had she been so angry. Even stupid face Dave had been all sad. Only Sandy seemed to not be angry, and even she had made another excuse to go away.

She shouldn't be feeling bad about killing. Especially when she hadn't meant to kill. She was supposed to kill. It was what she was, why she existed. She shouldn't feel stupid feelings about anything never mind killing. But every time she closed her eyes she saw Clementine's crushed body and then it got all muddled up and it was her sisters body all bleeding and sometimes it was Sandy's body and that made no sense because Sandy wasn't even dead.

She pushed for the emptiness again and once again failed, she didn't know what was wrong, she was good at the emptiness. All the stupid feelings should go away if she could just reach it. But it was like they were all blocking her.

She tried just being silent instead, as if forcing her body to move without sound would shut her mind up.

She had to kill someone. The thought came quite easily once she chased all the stupid ones away. She would show them, Mindy and Dave and everyone. She didn't need to be like them, being like her was fine. There was nothing wrong with being her. She would prove it, she could go and hurt someone and kill someone and not get stupid feelings about it. She could be strong, even if she didn't feel strong, even if she just had to poke her tongue in the gap where her teeth were to remember how very not strong she was.

She stalked the mall, looking for someone. Someone to kill. If they had supplies it would be a bonus, if not... well it didn't really matter. She wasn't doing this for survival, she was doing this to remind herself what she was. What she was good at.

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Albert knows what he should do, he should find someone he trusts, if there's anyone left. He should ally with them for safety, should try his damnedest to still win, or at least make sure someone who deserves saving will win. Venus, maybe, or Felicity, or Clementine, or Terezi if any of them are still alive. He should find someone to stick with and see this through.

But he has Jet's blood on his hands and his heart isn't in it, can't be in it because all he wants to do is be out, be back at the tower where he can wrap himself in Jet and simply be for a time. Not have to think about what the Capitol has made them do or is doing to others. His heart's gone out of the arena with Jet and all he wants is to go so they can finally be married like they'd promised each other.

"Al...when this arena's over, let's just do it, let's get married before any other crap comes up."

"The second we're out."

He pauses on a small ramp, one of the little ones that only barely needs a railing outside the Build-a-Buddy store. Jet had brought him there after the food court explosion despite being without his sight. The piles of stuffed animals had somehow made them feel a bit safer, likely some old feelings left over from childhood when a single stuffed animal could fight off all of the nightmares of the world.

Albert stands there too long, staring into the window, favoring his leg by leaning on the rail, and wondering if Jet would really blame him for getting himself killed purposely just so they can say their vows that much sooner. Then wondering if a thought like that is indicative of deep psychological upset.

Probably.

He's not sure he cares.

Most people were still in groups, the arena wasn't far enough along for alliances to break up and splinter. Finding someone on their own was hard and it took Pruna quite a long time to find someone who looked alone and remained alone for a while.

So she hid and watched the man who was looking at the weird not-dead animal store. She was still a little bit confused at them, apparently you could get stuffed ducks and plastic alligators and now here was a shop that sold bear skins. Except they didn't look like the bears in the zoo. They looked stupid and not real. Maybe they were alien bears.

She took in the mans visible weapons. A sword, a knife. The former she had never really used, outside of some practice with Kant. The latter she could use very well.

Getting them off him would be an issue, but a challenge. He was bigger than her, he looked strong and if she killed him then no one could call her weak.

She darted forwards, swinging her ice skates around by the laces aiming for his head hoping to at least knock him dizzy for a few seconds.

He hears her before he sees her, the scuff of shoes on tile catching his attention and causing him to whip his head around to try and see who's coming, his right hand braced in his left as if it were a weapon he could fire.

His line of sight at first goes right over her head, then the swinging skates catch his eye and he ducks to the side suddenly, more instinct to avoid danger than anything calculated. He bangs his left thigh into the railing he'd been standing against, pulling a sharp cry from him as the metal rod puts sudden pressure on the hole in his leg, still unstitched for lack of supplies. Blood blooms there, staining the bandage and sending the German sprawling, one hand still up and clutching the rail but the rest of him landing hard and facing his assailant.

A little girl. Face twisted in rage, maybe, but a little girl nonetheless.

"Stop!" He puts an arm up to defend himself, thinking she's attacking out of fear that he'll hurt her if she doesn't hurt him first. "Stop, I don't want to fight you!"

"Well you do be having no fucking choice." She strode closer, the ice skate still swinging round and round in front of her. "You do no be having no choices at all."

She moved quickly, swinging the ice skate towards his face and darting forwards, bare foot coming to press on his leg she had seen bleeding, she wasn't all that heavy but she hoped it would be enough to bring pain. She swiped out with her spare hand to try and grab the hilt of the dagger she had seen.

Heavy is relative. While he could probably lift the girl with one arm, the full weight of a person - even a small person - on an open wound is excruciating. Albert cries out in pain, arms flying to his leg on reflex to remove the weight, but leaving his head open for the skate.

The skate connects with his face side first, but the blade cuts into his jaw, leaving a red smear in its wake. He's lucky and the wound is superficial, but the weight of the blow against his already concussed head sends him reeling even worse than before and he's laid out flat, gasping at the pain that shoots through both his leg and face as Pruna comes away cleanly with his hunting knife.

Pruna grinned triumphantly as she took the hunting knife. Finally something was going right. She increased the pressure on his leg and brought his knife to his throat. "You will be doing what I do be telling you."

He cries out again as Pruna grinds down on his leg, jerking back and unintentionally exposing his throat. A moment later, he feels the edge of his own blade pressed against his neck. As he swallows, he can feel it against his adam's apple.

"Yes," is all he can say, loathe to admit he's afraid of a little girl, but she has him pinned with pain and should have already by rights killed him. He doesn't have much choice.

That made her grin harder. She would show them. She wasn't weak. She was strong and no one could say otherwise. He had a sword as well, she reached out to take that too. It was big, as large as Kant's and she struggled to wield it.

She kept the knife pressed against his throat and nudged him with her foot. "Be moving." They were near to a entrance to the staff corridors, it would be better than here.

They had to get out of the open, here was too exposed.

All he can move from this position is at a crawl. After her standing on his leg, he's not sure it can take his weight any longer. In his haze of pain he doesn't even think to question her, or how the sword is so big that he could likely easily topple her and take his weapons back. His reach outstrips hers by a few inches. But none of it comes to mind, his thoughts all tinged in white-hot agony that's far too slow to fade.

So he crawls in the direction she'd nudged him, breathing at a labored pace as he drags himself across the floor.

Pruna walked slowly behind him, jabbing him a few times just to remind him she was there. Never hard enough to break skin but a warning, that she could.

She kept the knife near his throat, even when she leaned over to unlock the door with the key Sandy had nabbed. She grinned when it clicked behind them, barely anyone came here. She jabbed the sword at his arm again, this time breaking skin, just a scratch. Not a warning, but a promise of what was to come. She continued steering him towards a bathroom, it wasn't very far.

She jabs and he yelps, nearly rolling over to kick at her but something stops him, something beyond pain. She may be terrifying in this moment, but she's still a little girl. How could he bring himself to fight back, to hurt her? All he can do right now would be sloppy, would potentially kill her or get himself killed. He doesn't have the wherewithal to hold back but he can't count on his weakness to do it for him.

So that means he's left with... what, letting her kill him?

The sword bites into his arm suddenly and he jerks, the knee he'd managed to get under him going out again and setting him flat on the concrete floor, breathing hard. "W-.."

Albert licks his lips, trying to find his voice through the exhaustion and pain. "Why?"

Pruna blinked at the question, not understanding it at first. Why what? Why was she doing this? Why did it hurt? Why...

She had always been told why, when she was a kid. Why she was learning what she was learning, why she had to do as she was told. Why it was important. Why it hurt. It was why she hated this place so much, because no one ever explained, she never knew what she was meant to be learning. So everything felt like one huge punishment.

Was she punishing this man? She didn't know him, he was just stupid enough to be the one she had caught. "Did no one be telling you." She brought her foot back down on his leg. "Everyone do be needing to be dying, except the winner. It do be being in the rules. People do be liking to be watching us all killing and dying. That do be being why."

If he had an immediate answer to that, it doesn't come, instead his body jerking as she stomps down on his injury again and his mouth opens in a raspy scream. It's a wonder she doesn't slip on the amount of blood that's drained into the overtaxed bandage. At this point he's leaving a trail behind them, a smear of red that crosses from slab to slab of the concrete floor.

It's getting hard to breathe for the pain and his fear, but he gulps air and tries to wheeze out a reply. "But you're just...a girl..."

Just a little girl who should be safe at home with someone who will coddle her, not here waving a sword that's too big planning on doing who knows what to a helpless victim.

She is pretty good at not slipping on blood, she pokes him forwards again, nudging him with her foot. She rolled her eyes at his comment, she's used to people underestimating her because she's a kid, because she's small.

Because she's weak.

"And you do just be being a man, it will be being easy to be killing you."

"Children... shouldn't have to kill..." He wheezes a bit, dragging himself through the bathroom door and onto cool tile. He's not sure he can go much further so he's partially glad to reach what's apparently their destination, but he does have to wonder what she has planned.

Pruna rolled her eyes again, kicking the door shut behind them. "Well be telling that to the people watching, be telling that to the kids who used to be fighting in the arena's before they did be bringing us."

She had to stay calm, anger was an emotion, emotions could be manipulated. "If we do no be killing we will just be being killed. That do be being how it do be working." She made her voice patient. Maybe he really didn't know.

She knelt down to get closer to him, knee on his injured leg. The hunting knife still looked a bit big in her hands, but she handled it like she knew what she was doing, bringing it down towards his arm and tracing a pattern just above the skin.

"Maybe you would be preferring this place to be being full of dead children rather than children who can be killing you. But we will no be letting you be killing us, no without a fight."

The knife lowered and this time she cut the swirly pattern into his flesh, it was rough, the hunting knife wasn't exactly a subtle instrument. The sword remained in her other hand, in case he had any thoughts about lashing out.

"I don't-" He starts to argue, starts to try and explain what he explained to Terezi; that they're not each others enemies, that they don't have to dance to the tune the Capitol plays even though there will be consequences, but all that comes out is another hoarse scream as she traces uneven whirls in his skin. By reflex, he jerks away, bisecting the spiral with a straight slash through its middle as he rolls over to escape the blade invading his flesh.

He can't go far though, just roll on his side and try desperately not to be sick at the severe pain not just from his shoulder, but still radiating from his leg. Her weight is still on it and though it's shifted enough to not break, the pressure sends waves of nausea that threaten to drown him.

It's all he can do to stare glassy-eyed at the floor, trying to catch his own breath and not heave the contents of his stomach. What he wouldn't give to be a cyborg again...

Pruna tutted, he had ruined it. Like a baby who couldn't even withstand a small bit of pain. No wonder he had been so easy to capture. She dug her knee into his leg again. "Only babies can no be dealing with a bit of pain." She taunted him, jabbing the knife into his side, not deep enough to do damage, but enough to draw blood again.

She nudged him towards the sink, an idea forming in her head. "What I did be doing was baby pain. You would no be being able to stand what they can be doing in the Capitol, you would be crying and crying like a baby."

If he has cause enough, Albert can withstand and push through any amount of pain. His leg would be nothing, the knife would feel no worse than a pin's prick, but as things are now he has no more will to even be in the arena, much less harm a child even if she means to do him harm. To kill him. So be it.

If it was to protect loved ones, Albert would withstand the worst torture imaginable. For himself? He hardly cares.

He winces at the stab in his side, rocking a bit with the movement and squeezing his eyes shut. He could grab her hand, could probably break her tiny wrist, send her sprawling and mewling, but all he does is try to breathe and not be sick as she pulls the knife out and tries to get him towards the sink.

That he can't do, though. He's spent of movement, too pained and weary. "Just get it over with."

"You do no be getting to be choosing when it do be ending." She told him patiently. He really was a baby to not know these basic things.

But he's too heavy to lift, maybe she should have found someone smaller. But being small did not mean she was weak, and she was determined to prove it.

But there was a bucket and so she grabbed it and filled it up, her sword pointing at Albert the whole time in case he had any thoughts about moving.

Soon she had a full bucket and she placed it down next to Albert before poking his leg again with her toe. "I do be being trained in hurting, I could be hurting and hurting you and you would no be dying for days. I do be chosing when it do be being over."

"Trained." It's not exactly a scoff, at least not at the diminutive girl threatening him with his own blade. It's more the situation, that there are those who would train a child to cause pain and death, to torture over days. It's sickening and fulls him with loathing, for whoever taught her and for himself. Is he different? He taught children to use guns, taught them to shoot and kill. They'd been in fear of their lives and he'd done it because there was no other defense, but does that really make him any better than whoever trained this girl?

It would be so easy to grab the blade, wrest it back from her and plunge it into that thin chest. Escape.

He hates himself for that thought too, so immersed in his own self loathing that he barely registers the bucket. It doesn't really matter anyway. He's stuck.

She just stared back at him. Not sure whether he believed her or not. Not that it would matter, it was true and would be true even if he didn't think so.

"They do be being even better trained here." She told him softly, "They do be having technology that do be making things easier, it do no be being like anything I did be seeing before."

She jabbed the knife into his leg, his good leg this time. Just under the knee, twisting the knife to the side. She still had to work out the mechanics of this, keeping him still while using the water.

She hadn't exactly been in a position to study the technique after all.

"I didn't mean th-" She shoves the knife in and twists and all he can do is writhe in silent agony. His voice is hoarse and almost gone and the scream what wants to come out can't pass his chafed throat. It's more of a wheeze ending in a choking cough and makes every wound ache.

He's not going anywhere.

As much as he hates that, he accepts it. Why he cries out when he could easily choke it back, too, is because there's no reason not to. Play it up for the cameras. Gain support. Why not? He'll be dead soon and out of the arena and isn't that what he wanted? Really, all he didn't want was to play their game but that ship has sailed and now he's left with two shredded legs, a little girl about to do him in, and his fiance's blood on his hands.

"Please, just do it."

"You do be being very impatient, do you be knowing that?" Pruna wrinkled her nose, but she was stalling. Not sure on the exact technique aside she did have to hurry, the longer they were here the bigger the chance of someone finding them.

She rolled her eyes at him and twisted the knife again, back the other way just because she could. Then bracing herself as best she could she lifted him up into a half sitting position.

His head didn't need to be completely in the bucket, only his mouth and nose. So that's what she did, pressing him down and using her weight to keep him there.

Impatient to die. He wishes he could say that's the first time he's been accused of it but he can't say anything with the knife turning under his flesh, cutting into tendons. He barely registers being raised the pain sifts through him so slowly, but the water suddenly covering his avenues of breathing snaps him from it.

He's still for a few seconds, holding his breath, deceptively calm, but the slowly building burn from his lungs and the suddenly overpowering memory of drowning on that ship, of being pinned and helpless as the seawater rose all around him, filling his mouth, his nose, and soon his lungs, lets panic through.

Albert jerks suddenly, apparently disregarding the knife that had caused him so much agony before, and attempts to raise his head from the water.

Pruna for her part just grits her teeth when he starts trying to raise his head and she counts to ten in her head before raising him from the water. Not too far, just enough that he could breathe for a moment.

She's doing this all wrong, it annoys her but she would need more equipment and hands to do it properly.

She didn't give him much time to breathe, not enough to get his body working and trying to get away. She pushed him back down.

He was scared, she realised. Or at least panicked. This was what she had wanted, to make someone afraid. To make them fear her, to prove that she could have that kind of power over people too.

Her arms were straining from holding him down but he kept going, memories of struggling to breathe, of blind panic... She threw them out of her head, but she didn't enter the emptiness. She wanted to feel this, even if she probably needed the extra stamina the emptiness gave her.

She didn't let him up this time, concentrating so much on keeping her fear away, concentrating on the job.

He manages a tiny gasp, enough to inhale a modicum of air and half a lungful of water, which only fuels his panic at being held down. He doesn't hold back as the burning permeates his brain, oxygen too spare for thoughts of how she's only a child, how something made her this way, how it's not her fault and he can't hurt her. Instead it's primal, visceral, and full of fear.

Get her off or you're going to die!

Only he's weakened, by blood loss, by lack of food in the past few days, by the severity of his wounds that she's exacerbated through putting all of her weight on the still-healing gashes. He can't get leverage, he can't get air, he can't get up.

But oh how he tries, thrashing wildly.

Pruna grits her teeth, trying her best to stay on top of him and hold him down. Digging her foot into his bad leg again to prevent him from getting up. It makes more of a mess, and more of a noise than she was expecting but she finally got him under control as his body weakened.

It was still hard and she felt like her muscles were going to give up before she heard the canon go off and realised that the man was no longer struggling, no longer doing anything.

Oops, she hadn't meant to kill him, just scare him a bit, a lot. Hands, slippy with blood came away from him and she looked at the body and the bucket.

She wasn't sure what she expected, to feel better. To feel like she had won something. But he was just dead, just like Clementine had been just dead and her sister...

Dead was dead at the end of the day. Death was what she was good at. She shook her head at the body, he would come back. Maybe he would have nightmares. Even that thought did not cheer her, she just sighed. "This do be being fucking stupid." She told him shaking her head as she left the bathroom, the canon might attract some people.

She should find Sandy, Sandy wouldn't question the blood and she would be a good distraction from the storm going on in Pruna's head.

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A point to prove

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hope this is okay!