thearena | Arena 12 - The Spaceport

Arena 12 - The Spaceport

As usual the Tributes are woken up early for the start of the arena, leaving the Tribute Centre before dawn. A few hours ride in a hovercraft delivers them to their destination where their excited prep teams will outfit them in skintight suits that are colour coordinated by District (D1 is White, D2 is Red, D3 is Orange, D4 is Aqua, D5 is Purple, D6 is Pink, D7 is Light Green, D8 is Blue, D9 is Yellow, D10 is Dark Green, D11 is Lavender, and D12 is Black) over which they will be put into what is instantly identifiable as a spacesuit, complete with oxygen tank and helmet before being loaded into the tubes.

They rise up into what appears to be outer space and immediately upon emerging from the tubes Tributes will find themselves floating upwards with a length of rope the only thing holding them to their podiums. The countdown crackles out from speakers built into each Tributes helmet.

20

19

18…

The Cornucopia sits in the middle of a dusty crater with buildings surrounding it, made up of a number of chained down cases and cubes in limited numbers. Cubes which sharp-eyed Tributes will note look like they fit into the slots beside the doors that lead into the spaceport.

8

7

6…

The mirrored visors of the uniformly white spacesuits make it impossible to tell friend from foe. Tributes fighting for goods will have to risk harming their friends but the alternative, floating off into space or suffocating when their oxygen runs out, leaves them little choice.

3

2

1…

The gong rings out and the countdown’s voice announces, “the Arena is now open” before the line goes dead. The Games have begun.

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Bruce doesn't mine Clint's scrutiny. The man was a spy, and thus was probably very used to checking other people over as potential threats. Bruce understood that, since he often found himself doing something similar.

So he just worked on sorting out the infirmary, not really bothering to make eye contact.

"Yeah, you could say that. Natasha was the last one to come before you, and she got here about two and a half months ago." This, of course, is not counting friends of Avengers like Darcy or Sam. Those aren't people Barton would know. Probably. "Did you get a chance to see the Capitol, or did you just get dropped into the arena?"

He'll take that gentleness, that comfort, and wrap it around himself, something he can normally only do with fear. He follows where she leads, blinks at the alcove she shows him, then follows on into there too.

Safe here.

His thoughts don't even making to being voodoo this time. He sighs aloud in relief, and in his head is that humming thank you. He sinks down against the wall all the while, until he's on the floor, eyes closed and preparing right to drifting off.

No hurt. That would be nice. Maybe he would have nice dreams for once. A miracle that would be.

Into unconsciousness, and the world of daymares, he slips.

"One fewer thing for me to blow sky high," he says, with a sigh to show he's joking. "Tell me, what are your opinions on cannibalism? I heard that the Capitol isn't fond, but I haven't ruled out the possibility that they expect it of us."

"You could kick it." Notably, Marco totally didn't say 'I' or 'we' right there. "Or we could drop something on it and see if it squirms."

Somehow, they're still doing Science, only this time with a dead alien that may or may not have to be made in xenojerky. Marco's not all that more excited by the prospect than Kaito is - for all he knows it's got acid blood - but he's also practical. And practical says that he hasn't found even a pack of dehydrated turnips in this joint yet.

"Okay, let's find something to drop on top of it."

"I promised Jolie I'd try to avoid it, but I won't starve." Her breathing is labored, getting rougher with every step. "Not that I'm terribly keen on the option, mind you. Maybe there will be some kind of animal around, something non-human that can be cooked and eaten."

Thor's grip holds as the figure flails. He isn't hurting him by any means, but there are few mortals who could wrench themselves from the grip of a fully powered Thor. Particularly when he is full of determination and making a beeline toward the station. Even a kick to the head isn't enough to get him off this track.

He does, however, hold a hand up bidding Carlos to stop even though he knows he likely can't see it. When he considers that, he moves a hand up to pat the leg in his arm as comfortingly as possible. It's not long before they're finally nearing solid ground, not long until Thor is wrenching them inside and fumbling to stop Carlos from hitting the floor hard.

He places him down, working on shedding the heavy suit to reveal the bright red suit under instead. With that out of the way, he's moving in to try help Carlos with his own suit. He still has no idea who he is, not until he unscrews the helmet and catches sight of the all too familiar hair.

"Carlos." It's funny how much emotion you can fit into one word. Thor is conveying worry and relief, but there's something stern in his tone and expression. He has his powers, he has Carlos, this Arena is going to be crucial.

Nill's not a miracle worker, and there's probably only so much she can do for him when he has the Voodoo, and she knows so little about how it works and what it does when Kurloz isn't awake. But she remains where she is, back to the wall, knife held lightly between her fingers but ready if need be. She tries to keep projecting comfort and peace at him, tries to relieve him of as much of the hurt as she can. That much is easier if he sleeps. His conscious mind won't try to convince him the hurt is still there when she's trying to trick it into not noticing.

She might not be able to give him good dreams, but she tries. Stars. Images of Terezi and Signless, mostly of smiles, never the Signless's face when they watched Kurloz die in the Arena together, never the way Terezi looked just before she blacked out. His paint, his bones. She keeps the illusion up, which should make it so most people wandering past simply don't notice them, seeing an extension of the wall where their hiding spot is.

Nill multitasks as she tries to find the Signless and then Terezi, and she watches over Kurloz as he sleeps, more a bird than any kind of angel that either of them understand.

He doesn't bother answering, not beyond a little nod, anyway. Obviously this guy knows him, and just as obviously, Clint doesn't know who this guy is. He's at a disadvantage and it rankles. But while neither of them relax, Clint's struck surprised by the name that falls from Bucky's mouth. If that's how he's known, then things might not be as bad as he'd imagined. Still, Clint doesn't move, stance loose and ready to strike or run.

"Rogers? Yeah, we worked together once."

His face isn't as blank as Bucky's, but he's pretty impassive himself. There's a hint of calculating, a curiosity building in the blue of his gaze.

"He here?"

That's nice, it really is. Clint likes not having to fight people who potentially know his friends. Well, friend, now. His own knife-bearing hands rest easily at his sides, even if he could throw them with deadly aim and force in seconds.

That probably goes without saying, even if Sam isn't all that familiar with his skill set.

Clint snorts though, a little smirk tugging at his mouth. Fury had offered him a job largely because he'd been a pain in the ass, but also because Clint was one talented sniper if he said so himself. He's not even the least bit surprised Sam got offered a job as well.

"Yeah, he does that." But that still doesn't answer the question, really. And if something big enough came by that Natasha had to be helped out by some random guy...well, Clint's pretty sure he would have been brought in, regardless of his leave.

"So what do you do, if it's not the spying thing?"

Tony's eyes widen a little as the not!Dave materialises, ad first wanting to assume it was the other Dave but the lack of wings made that the wrong assumption to make. He doesn't talk when Dave essentially has a conversation with himself, but he does shift a little and tries to press on his wound to stop the bleeding a little more.

"Maybe I should mention to Steve to take another look at that application of yours." He says slowly, as he's taking extra effort to keep himself calm over the fact he's bleeding out. No point in getting worked up and have the blood pour out faster.

"Really, this is making you want to vomit?"

If nothing else right now he can easily say he has more than enough strength to raise an eyebrow at Dave.

Gary and not feeling awful isn't exactly the most reassuring thing in the world. The kid makes jokes about how the peacekeepers don't like him. As far as Nill is concerned, Gary and survival instincts don't get along. Unless you can count flinging himself into a wall as a survival instinct.

After taking a moment to look down both ends of the hall, Nill steps into the room, nodding very hesitantly at him. And then, because he's hurt, because he's a kid that is actually somehow smiling in an Arena, she decides it might be okay to try to 'talk' to him.

So enjoy the noncorporeal voice in your head, Gary. It doesn't exactly have a sound to it, but it does give off the impression of someone being worried.

"I'm fine. Did you go after the cornucopia?"

While they've been talking, Anna has been fiddling with the case she'd brought in from outside. She opens it up with her eyes half shut, feeling around and only cracking them open when her hand closes around something solid and, well, dangerous-feeling.

It's a Taser.

She only knows the name of it from the vague attention she's payed to weapons training, only seen it used in passing on screens playing old Arena footage, but she knows what it does.

Anna looks up when Bro rises, and something boils inside her--not anger, but something like it. And she can't even bring herself to say anything, like don't go or don't leave me. She just raises her arm, almost mechanically, aims the Taser at his rear end, and presses the button.

The sound of metals clanging and thrashing about is different from the slow and sluggish pace of lurkers knocking over boxes as they roam. The groaning is now replaced by a screech that will surely reach Nick's nightmares. Either way both things gets his heart beating fast and his legs going faster. He keeps himself behind Clementine, looking back every now and then to see a set of teeth (always fucking teeth...) snapping at him every time he does.

They could probably lose it if they enter one of the labs and barricade the doors. He opens his mouth to offer the suggestion, but nothing comes.

Nothing for Luke and Clementine to hear except for the sound of Nick's guttered scream through his teeth. The pipe burns his hands but he can't drop it - he can't even fucking move as the electric currents surge throughout his body. He finally falls over with the pipe dropping onto the floor with a clang, his body showing no signs of moving as the alien salivates from the side of the wall.

It's not that he's surprised he's last, in fact, Clint's just overall surprised he got brought here at all. He hadn't really felt like one of the Avengers, not after the days spent under Loki's control and the feverpitch high of those scant hours spent fighting the Chitauri. But if they'd brought in Natasha it makes sense to bring him too, they're two halves of a coin after all these years.

So he shrugs, faking his unconcerned actions in a way she'd know. Then he speaks, quiet, wry in the silence of the spaceport, "Guess they wanted a set."

Or not, who knows. In any case, she offers weapons, and Clint perks up. He's never unarmed and harmless, even without a weapon in hand, but it is nice. The choice is easy, in the end. Natasha's not the only one who uses a pistol, even if Clint's better with his bow and arrow or rifle. But he's long since become used to being the back up to her close ranged melee. He takes the phaser from her hand with a curious look.

Due to Newton's Second Law of Motion, when Black Tom uses Tony as a jumping block, Tony floats away in the opposite direction while he tries to cover up the gaping hole in his suit with more pressure.

Not a great start to an interesting arena.

There's somethin' cowardly 'bout a man that doesn't meet another's eye, his father used to say. But then again, his father was a coward, and Clint didn't spend much more than fickle thoughts upon him. Not these days, not after the long years without. In any case, Clint doesn't particularly mind that Bruce does his own thing, he hadn't expected otherwise.

He simply rests his arms atop the tableau of his drawn up knees, fingertips tapping quietly against dark blue fabric. It makes sense that Natasha was the first picked out of the both of them, Clint doesn't do much but nod in understanding, even if Bruce isn't looking at him.

"Just got dropped in." A sharper look, intent upon the bowing line of Bruce's shoulders, "That not how it usually goes down?"

He'd seen her fiddling with her case, but he couldn't have imagined what she'd do with it. His mind is on far too many other things to even think that she's gonna do anything to get him to stay. In his opinion, him leaving is for the best, otherwise he might say things that he would regret, and he isn't sure if they would be angry or something else entirely. It feels like on both ends, there are words left unsaid by the both of them and if they could just get them out-

But it's not going to happen, he's too prideful to do that. It's especially not going to happen, because the sudden shock in his booty area catches him quite off guard and then suddenly he's falling forward, unable to control the muscles in his lower half. He lands on the ground, ass jutting out and his body limp as he lets out a heavy, pained grunt.

Everything feels numb.

Especially his feelings.

He hates everything and nothing is okay.

She got him good. She got him good and he's never been more impressed and angry in his entire life. On one hand, well played. On the other, his fucking ass. It's never going to get a break here, is it? Is he just doomed to have it wrecked in every arena?

"F'ck you," he grumbles, his voice muffled by the fact his cheek is pressed awkwardly against the ground, unable to really move still.

His mouth turns up in an answering smirk in response to Clint’s snort, and he shakes his head a little at his comment about Fury. “Doesn’t surprise me.” And from what Sam’d seen of the man, he’s betting few people turn him down. Or at least, didn’t, when SHIELD was still active.

“I’m a soldier,” he replies. “Pararescue originally, then more special ops stuff like the Khalid Khandil mission.” That’s the one that Natasha’d commented on, anyway, so he figures he might as well lead with that. There’s no point in holding back the Falcon stuff, here. Barton is SHIELD - was SHIELD? - and an Avenger, if he doesn’t already know, he’d find out pretty quickly.

“I was retired, but when Captain America tells you that Hydra’s taken over government organizations and is gonna kill a couple billion people, you don’t really have an option other than getting back in.”

As good as I can be. Not injured, at any rate -- and I do have some medical supplies, if you're grazed enough to be in need of them.

[It's strange being the one protecting someone else when so often he's found himself in the role of the person being helped, not the one doing the helping. He has more experience here, and he thinks he might be right in assuming he's better equipped to deal with violence even if he won't commit violent acts.]

Listen. So long as you're whole and alive, you have a chance. Keep moving, keep out of sight. It's the best way for people like you and me to stay alive and out of harm's way.

It's been a busy Arena so far. Certainly not a good one by any means, perhaps a little better than the time so many people exploded in the first few seconds. He's reunited with Carlos, treated his wounds and now he's in search of someone in possession of a medical kit. He should have made a run for the Cornucopia, but considering all the carnage surrounding it perhaps he made the better choice.

In a similar manner to Gary, Thor is striding the halls with little fear or regard for his surroundings. With his powers back, he doesn't have all that much to worry about. Except for frantic teen trying too hard to regain swagger colliding into his broad chest right now.

He doesn't give much more of a response than a grunt and a step back. He levels an unimpressed look on Gary, quirking a brow as he waits for him to explain this. Because, y'know, it's clearly his fault.

The comment predictably wipes away all traces of his smile because he hadn't really been aware of it until Beth pointed it out, and now he's embarrassed. He lets go of her hands and stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, wanting to ask what there is that's worth smiling about.

Except the answer comes to him before he can even open his mouth. She's there staring him in the face.

Well.

He knocks aside the door and steps back out into the corridor, waiting for Beth to join him before he moves on. There's only one direction they can head in that's not backtracking, so that simplifies the choice of where to go.

"There was this place, Terminus," he says quietly while they're walking. "Signs for it everywhere. Said it was a sanctuary, a community. An' I guess maybe it could'a been, once. Rick wanted to check it out — I was with him, Michonne, Carl. We thought maybe everyone else would'a headed that way too." He's unconsciously chewing on his thumbnail by this point, heedless of the alien blood crusted under it, inadvertently revealing his anxiety. He falls silent as they reach intersecting hallways and looks to Beth. They should probably start moving inward, he figures, and nods in that direction.

"I won't deny that real magic is... well, real," said Kaito, opening his palms as if to say whatcha gonna do?

"But for us mere mortals, it's impossible. Still, people want to believe in that impossibility. That's why they want to believe in our 'magic'. It's like enjoying a sweet dream."

"But I think I've forgotten to introduce myself! I'm Kuroba Kaito. Nice to meet you, Mr. Wizard."

Yeah, Kaito... Kaito was not going to kick it. Dropping something on it, however, sounded like a good idea. He looked around the area, and found a round sort of robotty-looking thing that didn't look like it was making itself useful.

He dangled it over the gap and dropped it onto the alien.

Anna lets out a gasp as soon as she realizes what she's done. She's not sure how it happened; it was like her brain shut off and her body took over, like an automaton. Grunting through the pain in her leg, Anna shifts forward, crawling toward Bro with gritted teeth.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, Bro, I didn't mean to--" She pauses, trying to compose herself, because her leg hurts so bad it's making tears spring to her eyes unwarranted. She catches his grumbling and her eyes narrow, and she pauses in her crawling.

"Fuck me? Well--w-well fuck you! I can't believe you were about to leave me here by myself!"

Bucky is wary but he knows that if Steve knew one of his allies (friends?) was here now, he would want Bucky to do this. More importantly to the Bucky however is the potential that there be someone else on Steve's side in the arena to heighten the possibility of his friends survival.

"Yes." he gives a single nod to accompany the word, a show that it's the answer he expected to hear before he moves onto the next question. Notably he doesn't offer Steve's location, not yet.

"What have you been told about this place?"

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Arena 12 - The Spaceport

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