The Gamemakers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gamemakers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2013-01-12 03:36 pm
gamemakers) wrote in thearena2013-01-12 03:36 pm
Entry tags:
- ! arena 05,
- sigma klim,
- wesker,
- wyatt earp,
- ✘ adel-makim-zalur,
- ✘ alex rider,
- ✘ anna morasca,
- ✘ charlotte "lottie" la bouff,
- ✘ chris redfield,
- ✘ copycat,
- ✘ danny williams,
- ✘ dean winchester,
- ✘ donatello,
- ✘ dr. grey,
- ✘ draco malfoy,
- ✘ eliot spencer,
- ✘ eponine thenardier,
- ✘ howard bassem,
- ✘ javert,
- ✘ lindsey mcdonald,
- ✘ momoko ryugasaki,
- ✘ neeshka,
- ✘ richard b. riddick,
- ✘ sherlock holmes (bbc),
- ✘ some ovmennet,
- ✘ tony stark
Arena 05 - Chill
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.
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.
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Then after a moment, "So what are you gonna do?"
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This really all did seem beyond crazy. She was no adventurer or arctic explorer. She was a scrawny kid from the streets of New York. And not even the fun New York her dad used to talk about.
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"Why'd you come after me?" The thought had occurred to her after things have settled down.
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He gave her a mocking little salute, turning away to head back the way they'd come. "Take care of yerself, now, kid."
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As he turned to go a part of her wanted to call for him to stay. After all what were the odds everyone in this frozen hellhole would be as nice as him?
Instead all she managed was "My names Sandy." And hoped he would tell her his name so she knew who to shout at if this stupid burying in the snow plan didn't work.
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And he filed that name away for remembering in the future. Maybe he'd have to keep an eye on the kid. Just for the sake of it. Even if these capitol types didn't mind throwing kids in here to die, he sure did.