Arena 05 - Chill

[gamemakers]

Usually, the tribute's outfits for the arena aren't accessorized. But today, the last thing their stylists hand them before the countdown begins is a pair of heavy black glasses, polarized and thick-lensed. They look at odds with the thick, winter gear they've been outfitted in.


It's a long rise to the surface today, inside their individual little tubes, much longer than usual. They start to feel the cold only about halfway up, and to hear the wind. It howls across the surface as they reach it, pressing all of their clothes flat against their bodies. And the reason for the glasses is immediately apparent.


20 - 19 - 18


The sky is white. The ground is white (and gray and black and blue but mostly white), the far-off sea is blinding silver. Everything in sight flings light around, fractures it into scintilating rainbows and sheer white beams of reflection. It is strong, cruel light, and it bears no heat at all. The surface is so cold that the little metal trackers ache in everyone's arm, and the countdown has to continue at a deafening volume to be heard.


 12 - 11 - 10 -


The circle of silver pedestals is the only regular shape to be seen. All else is fractured and split, the most uneven footing imaginable. And at the center of the circle, the Cornucopia sports icycles hanging from its lip, almost to the pile of supplies tucked all neatly inside its mouth.


4


3


2


There's a lull in the wind just as the gong sounds, letting it peal out across the frozen glacier, and echo off the high rock cliffs in the distance. And the ice answers, with a loud crack that seems to come from miles down.


Let the Games begin.

Comments

[makeflowersgrow]

Her tone was amused; she had watched the carnage, though made no effort to join in. And now she shouted at this man running to her.

"M'sieur, do not trouble yourself with me; I wait for death. I would rather live in the Capitol in comfort than kill here."

[futilecycle]

He hadn't learned there would be a second chance. He didn't care. This sounded, to him, like the delusions of a woman who had accepted death. He was familiar with such things.

"There's no time!" Sigma argued, kneeling down to her level. He jutted his hand towards her frantically, offering for her to take it. He had to convince her somehow. "Come with me! Let's go!"

[makeflowersgrow]

"NO!"

Does he not see? Does he not hear her?

"M'sieur, I wait for death. I can go back to the Capitol then and eat and sleep in a bed. I do not wish to play this game."

[futilecycle]

"You're going to die! Death isn't something to be taken lightly," he scolds. He tries to look dead into her eyes, but the effect is lost behind the dark glasses. He lowers his voice, trying to put on a parental tone, the voice he'd use to talk reason into his son. "You have to survive. You cannot give them the satisfaction of defeating you so quickly!"

He then turned to see if anyone was coming. With the sheer amount of weapons in the general proximity, they were sitting ducks. Sigma was beginning to get nervous.

[makeflowersgrow]

She shakes her head.

"It is here, M'sieur. I do not have to survive. They just bring you back to life and throw you in for another arena to watch you die again. It is horrid to think, but it is better to die now, isn't it?"

She grins at him. "It is just a quick stab - and then I can sleep in that nice bed again, and eat nice food. M'sieur, I will not survive this arena anyway, so I may as well die now. So you can kill me if you wish. I do not care."