thearena | Mini Arena 3

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Mini Arena 3

The kids are picked up from the daycare bright and early, but by the Capitol instead of their parents. It's just like old times in the arenas, with only children to contend.

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Stylists are starting to get used to the mini-arenas, though it doesn't mean they've been allowed to dress tributes in whatever they want. All the tributes will be dressed as proxy copy of a respective video game character. All tributes are reminded about the ticket rules for this round.

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The platforms lift them up, and there is no cornucopia to be seen. The only way tributes will be able to help and protect themselves is if they go out of their way to harm another tribute and get the tickets, which will be tallied by their watches. The lights of the games flicker and glow within the dark. Classic video game fight tunes play overhead. Before them lay a great and stretching obstacle course, filled with animatronic enemies and various other hazards.

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They've all been warned, don't step off your pedestal early. They have also been warned to put on a good show. That's all this is about, a good show. None of them have been told that there can be multiple winners this time around.

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The sound of the gong plays crystal clear across the opening. The games have begun.

[OOC: Remember, this is forwardated by a week.]

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Somehow Terezi has managed to drag herself this far. In the distance she thinks that she can smell something vaguely like the finish line... but it's a little difficult to finish in her condition. She drips a trail of blood behind her as she clutches her stab wound--more blood than she knows she can reasonably lose. She's bleeding out. Dying, slowly. But she made a promise to survive, and like hell is she going to give up on that.

Maybe, just maybe if she gets to the end, they'll call it good enough and patch her up. If not, she'll just have to bleed out all over their victory line, and they can just fucking deal with that.

But she has to make it there first, and with the way that everything is swimming dangerously, she's not entirely confident that it's going to happen.

He spots the Teal trail first. It just about makes his pusher stop alone. Only one bleeds that color here. He wonders who did it, but it doesn't matter. All what matters is that he finds her, and that by some miracle she's still alive.

Oh Mirth, please still be alive. She could make this. She could survive this. She didn't have to die, for once, neither of them had to.

Then he sees her, struggling there, and it tears out his pusher the rest of the fucking way. She's still moving. And it's killing her.

He's by her side in a second, running up and kneeling down. He puts a hand on her shoulder, then her hand, just to get her to stop and look up at him.

"LET ME," He says. "Let me take on care of the rest all of this."

She jerks at the hand on her shoulder, her first instinct to think that it might be another tribute trying to finish her off. She's just waiting for the knife to her back or chest or throat--anywhere that might kill her quickly. But there's a touch to her hand instead, and she hears his voice.

Relief floods her, followed quickly by guilt. She promised him that she would make it this time, and here she is barely alive. But he doesn't remark on that. He only asks to take care of the rest.

"Okay," she breathes out, her voice a little shaky from exertion. She won't make it the rest of the way on her own, and he's right here. She clings to his arm with her free hand to steady herself, waiting for however he intends to lead, as the blood trickles through the fingers clamped over her wound.

His eyes dart back and forth from her face to the wound. He stops her for a second, raising a hand up to halt her movements. Then, he reaches for of the sleeves of the green dragon pajamas he wears, grips it tight, and then rips. He takes the other half off with it, then brings both strips to her middle.

He settles just a bit behind her, so she can have something to lean on while he attempts on wrapping the makeshift bandage around her middle. He looks apologetic for each wince or noise that might be evinced.

Then, with one hand at her back to keep her held up, he makes to shift about. "WRAP YOUR ARMS UP ROUND MY NECK. Gonna need you to hang on tight, no matter how it hurts, aight?"

She tries not to cry out when he ties the cloth around her middle. They have to slow the bleeding somehow, even if it's only a temporary measure. Even if it's only enough to get her to the finish line. But there's pain with each wrapping and each tug. She grits her teeth, trying to muffle the noise behind a clenched jaw, but it only comes out as a pained whine.

Her legs feel shaky to stand on as she holds onto him for balance. Her head swims even more from the pain, until he's finally done tying off the makeshift bandage. He asks her to hang onto his neck--to hold on no matter how much it hurts. If it was anyone else, she might be at least a little skeptical. She might wonder if they could carry her safely or if they knew what they were doing.

But not Kurloz. She nods in understanding, and there's an implicit trust between them as she reaches up to do as he says--wrap her arms around his neck and to hang on tight. "Ready," she breathes out, bracing herself for the pain of movement.

Trust real implicit, asking another troll to wrap anything around his neck. But Terezi not like that and neither is he anymore. Her arms slip around him, and he just finds himself glad she’s here and alive, praying she stays that way. Once she says she’s ready, he reaches, scooping up her legs in his arms. He rises up, trying to be careful to disturb her wounds little as possible as he hitches her higher.

“SORRY,” He shoots back at her, meaning it for this and wrapping her and everything. “You hanging on alright?” He can give her that moment to breathe, if all she needs, but he’d rather not waste more of her precious slipping time.

He can see the finish line, right there in view, not far up at all. They can do it. They can make this. It will just mean a bit of a run, a bit of jostling and pain.

He lifts her up, and she nearly cringes at how much it hurts. Her arms tighten around his neck before she realizes that he might need room to breathe. Her grip loosens, but only just a little. It's still tight enough to keep her on his back.

Her face presses against the back of his shoulder, hiding the grimace that she's making. Teal blood is starting to soak through the makeshift bandage already, wetting the back of his costume where she's pressed against him.

"It's okay," she breathes, barely forming the words. "I'm okay. Just go." She just has to hold on a little longer, right? Just a little longer, and they'll both cross over the finish line. They'll be okay then.

He waits not a second more. Hanging on tight to her and her to him, he starts to run.

His eyes are sharp for any threats, anything or anyone what might take them out last minute. If there was anyone trying to kill them, he's not actually sure he could stop them, so he hopes his bared teeth are enough.

He can feel her cool blood on his back, seeping on through the cloths and his clothes. He can imagine the stain of teal on grey in his mind, and more so, the open wound of hers. Please, he prays, don't let this be like last time.

"ALMOST THERE TEREZI," He says. "We're going to win!"

Almost there, almost there. The words echo in her thoughts, repeating back the encouragement that he's trying to give. The jostling from the running hurts like hell, and it leaves her feeling even more light-headed.

Don't pass out, don't pass out. She can't die on him like this again. She can't stand to come back to the Capitol to find that sad expression on his face in the recaps. The way the he couldn't leave her side, even after she was long gone. The way that he would so carefully set her corpse down and brush the hair away from her ashen face. She can't let that happen again.

Her hands curl against his front, nails digging against clothes, trying not to prick skin. She wants him to know that she's still hanging on.

"Set me down at the finish line," she breathes, hoping that her voice is strong enough to hear. She doesn't know what sort of games the Capitol might try to play, but it's better safe than sorry. She wants to cross the finish line on her own two feet, just to be sure.

At the finish line. Right, of course, he can do that. He nods, though he realises it's impossible to see-- not just because she's blind, but because of all the jostling what's up and going on already.

There's a split second where all he wants to grip her hand, but he's still holding on to her legs. Not yet.

It's just that last short distance, and although she's in pain, he finds himself near to smiling with what hope he's got. They're there. They did it. He crouches down low, carefully releasing her legs so that she may stand on her own. They're just a step from the finish line.

"WE DID IT. You motherfucking did it," He says, one last time. He looks at her, so proud.

He goes to follow.

We did it, he says, and she exhales a shaky breath. She doesn't know how she's still conscious. Her wound hurts terribly, and she can barely stand on her own two feet. She has to hold onto him for support to keep herself upright--a weak, trembling grip on his forearm.

But he's right, they've done it. She's on the threshold of the finish line, and she's alive. They can't take that from her. She doesn't bother trying to smell the concerned faces on the other side of the nonexistent barrier. She steps forward with Kurloz, knowing she can relax now that it's over.

Right over the finish line, and he's thinking on the same thing. They can relax. It's all being good. They did it togetherlike and--

There's a warning beep from the watch on his wrist, flashing red zeros where he didn't go on to cull nobody, didn't hurt no one, and simply forgot the moment he saw her. He jerks back away from her on instinct, not no what my happen if she's near to him. The tube comes up around him, floor to ceiling, and he can see her on the otherside, not a bit of escape up around him at all.

There's barely any time as all to motherfucking thing. He looks up, breath catching as the clicks sound. His pupils dilate and his ears fold back, and the acid goo comes down.

"TEREZI TURN AW--"

The acid, green as sopor, falls down upon him and his words turn to screams. He can hear the sizzling in his ears, through his own howls. His skin disintegrates, then, muscle, then nerve. His claws shriek desperately on the tube's impenetrable glass, even as they melt away and dissolve. His vision goes white with pain, then mercifully dark, as his body comes apart and the bits where joints held on, melt and detach. The tube is splashed indigo and green.

It's just the colors what remain after long enough.

Terezi doesn't have the reflexes to react. The beeping barely registers to her before her support is being yanked away from her. She stumbles and turns back, against his wishes. She doesn't understand what she's smelling until the splash of green falls down, melting away the familiar scent of blackberries and licorice.

It's the screaming that shakes her to the bone, though. The wordless howl of pain and agony, and the way it cuts off suddenly as the acid eats through his mouth and throat. She wants to scream, too, but she can't find her voice. Wordlessly, she exhales a shaky breath, unable to turn away from the horror in front of her.

Her knees give out before the acid stops flowing, before she gets a chance to smell the bits of color he's been reduced to in that cylindrical cell. She hits the ground, tremors shaking her shoulders and barely able to breathe. Anyone around her could see that she's in shock--in equal parts bloodloss and unspeakable horror.

Mercifully, self-preservation kicks in. Her mind can't handle what it just witnessed, and she has no strength to go on. It shuts down, folding her into blessed unconsciousness, where she doesn't have to process these last few moments. Her body crumples just past the finish line.

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Mini Arena 3

For Initiate

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Gore warning

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