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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Now as he's paying attention, of course, he can feel the fear. High and sharp, but settling to something easier. Softer.

"GOT AT TO GET HONEST UP ABOUT. I, uh, did't think as anyone would be here neither."

He closes his eyes, so as she ain't frightened more by the flash they get when his voodoo's being in use. He feels around them, beyond her and his ownself. Then says, "IF AS IT HELPS, AIN'T FEEL NO ONE ELSE COMING ON IN WITH THE SAME IDEA JUST YET."

He opens his eyes back up, looking apologetic. And hopeful.

"I can trust a sister as to let this troll get a live on, yeah?"

Darcy knows the whole 'Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup' saying. Hell, she used to have a cross-stitch of that in her dorm room. Of course, when she had that hanging in her dorm room, she didn't know that dragons actually existed (or Asgardians, aliens, and dark elves. Thinking back on it, the past few years have been really weird).

"Well...technically..." Darcy's brain should kick into self-preservation mode right now. The only reason it doesn't is all the adrenaline in her system. "...you kind of are a lizard. I mean, dude, scales and...I should probably stop now shouldn't I?" Oh, hey, looks like her brain's finally catching up with the rest of the situation. That's good. "So...if you're not a lizard, what are you?" Because she really doesn't want to piss of a giant reptile by calling her a dragon if she isn't one. That would probably only mean her certain demise.

Gary gives a nervous sort of laugh. Hah! It's funny, because...because it's true...damn, this is depressing. Gary is more than happy to change the subject to something that doesn't involve strangers killing him for sport.

"I don't need both arms to show you where food is!" The teen flashes a chipper smile. "I found some cake! It's good, I promise, I've already had some that was lying around in another room. I just can't, uh. Get to this one."

Because of his arm? Because of other things? Gary doesn't say, and his twitching poker face says that maybe there is more to this situation than he would like to admit.

Yeah, that is... suspicious. A little bit. Brock squints and slowly turns back to look this kid over. If he's trying to lure him into some kind of death trap, he's doing a very bad job of it. He ought to be flailing around about his broken arm and crying about his dying sibling trapped in the other room or something...

But maybe Brock is being paranoid. That is a possibility.

Still, he'd like to know what he's getting into before he's knee-deep in it. "What... why."

"What you're working with? Chernaya vdova," she tells him, the Russian rolling smoothly off her tongue as she switches languages without a hitch. The Black Widow. Undoubtedly what HYDRA might have referred to her as in their constant quest to make sure the world assumed that the Soldier was a Soviet weapon, and not a Nazi one.

"I'm not sure what Steve told you, but if you're here to find him then I need to make sure that you're not going to target him again. That your programming isn't going to kick in. Do you understand?"

She has things to do. She needs to find Steve, she needs to find Sam and Bruce and every single one of her allies. She needs to make sure they're okay.

If Natasha were a better person, if she were a more selfless person, she might stick around to help him. But she has priorities and they're ultimately selfish.

"You don't look weak. That's worth something," even though she can't help him, she wants him to fight. As a survivor, Natasha doesn't understand that kind of apathy, and that might never change. But she carefully rolls her shoulders and stretches her back, as if in preparation to move - and fast.

"What's your name?"

He's someone to keep tabs on, later on. Call it curiosity.

She figures there's really no point in being subtle. Once you've spent a couple decades in a business like theirs, spotting others in the same line of work is easy. Of course, Nat can disguise that if she wanted to. She can make sure she moves differently, dresses to put off suspicion. That isn't difficult, either. To fool most people, all it takes is a disarming smile, some soft and muted colours, and a relaxed stance.

But she doesn't do that here. Here in the arena, she wants people to know she's a predator. So they'll be less likely to start anything.

"To be honest, I've got a laundry list of errands to run. Fighting you isn't on my list," she tells him, as casual as anything. Honor among spies is most definitely a thing. "What's the saying in the city? May the odds be ever in your favor?"

He's pleased by the response. She didn't make some bullshit excuse to cover for her fear of him -- which indicates that she has no fear of him. It's interesting, and he'd like to test it someday, maybe. Just to see what she's capable of.

But like she said, errands to run. Brock can't say he has a literal list (apart from twenty bullet-pointed 'survive!' notes, maybe), but he does have better things to do than screw around with a pretty face. It's too bad, but that's life.

"Ha. Some shit like that," he answers, stepping to the side to give her a wide berth as he starts down the direction she's coming from. Just because they've reached an agreement doesn't mean he's going to let his guard down.

"'Don't get killed' works just as well."

Seeing his friend in pain doesn't make Sam falter in what he's doing; he's got way too much experience for that. But it does mean that as soon as he can feasibly finish things one-handed, he takes Steve's good hand with his free one, lacing their fingers together.

"Squeeze my hand when it gets rough, man. And I'm gonna be insulted if you give me some wussy ass grip, you got it?" He knows very well that Steve could probably break his hand if he gripped it too hard - but he trusts Steve not to. And he kind of figures that if Steve's focusing on squeezing his hand hard enough but not too hard, it'll take his mind off the pain a little.

When he's finished, he hesitates, not letting go of Steve's hand. Steve might not be thinking about stealing a med kit, but Sam is. He wouldn't do it for himself, but for Steve, well. Sam's pretty sure he knows what Steve's opinion on that'd be, though.

"I'll get you stabilized so we can get moving," he says finally. Then he'll see if he can't track someone down with one.

"I'd much rather avoid it if I can, darling." She answers with a nod, no clear intention for murdering Nitou really present as she dusts her hands off on her jumpsuit. "I'd rather you be able to raid for mayonnaise as along as you possibly can ."

Psii wobbled in mid-air, less a god and more a glowing space banana dizzied by fear.

"Thomething'th wrong," he stammered to himself. "It'th not poithon.... thomething pthychic. I can feel it in my pan, fuck...."

The barkbeast alien was dead, but the psychic interference wouldn't stop. Psii took a closer look at the only other living thing here. Clowns were harbingers of trouble, and this one's eyes were flashing pink and indigo. Psii didn't know he had powers. He'd never asked. He raised his hands to clutch his own head, as if scrubbing at his temples would clear it away. His psionics faltered enough to brush his feet against the floor.

"Thtop it.... THTOP IT! GET IT OUT!"

Get it out get it out get it out get it out! Psii bolstered his psionics, raising a sparking wall around himself. The air sung with electricity, but Psii wasn't going to kill anyone outside his shield. Multiple people had told him not to waste the clown. However, he felt there was nothing wrong with having a safeguard wall in place, so he wouldn't have to consider incinerating anyone in moments of weakness. He just hoped it wasn't weakened too much by the power nerfing here.

Edited (clarity) 2015-01-22 07:10 (UTC)

Tough crowd, yes, but Gary's performed for tougher. At least Thor hasn't denied him completely--vague interest is better than no interest. Gary straightens and squares his shoulders, as if trying to match Thor's imposing stature.

"I need some of your hair."

Maybe an autograph would have been better. Gary doesn't even think about how weird this sounds until the words have already come out of his mouth, and by this point he's too committed to backpedal. His expression remains flat.

Nitou seems relieved. "That's cool, 'cause I didn't really want to have to kill you, either. I don't think Chimera would wanna eat you."

Gary's attempt to match Thor's stance is garnering amusement more than respect or awe. He would never hurt or dismiss someone in need. He does, however, consider wandering off when he makes that ridiculous request.

"Pardon?" He asks, after furrowing his brows and balking for a long moment. He lifts a hand to his braid, narrowing his eyes at Gary. "For what reason?"

A good thing to because even as Sam starts to move away there's a clicking sound from that metal arm as it reclaibrates itself, a whir of hidden motors as the Winter Soldiers fingers curl against the floor and a pained growl eases out of the mans throat. His body is far enhanced compared to that of a normal human.

He pushes himself up as the Hobbit scampers round the corner, looking around with narrowed eyes and then fury when he see's his crate has been ravaged of contents. Lucky that he took the weapons out and attached them to his person first, what was in there was mostly gathered food and a container of some kind of orange gel.

One thing is for sure, if he see's that Hobbit again Bucky will be killing him without hesitation.

"If you are hurt I can compensate for your injuries." he said, irritation colouring his tone, first at her avoidance, then at what she accuses him potentially capable of.

The worst part is he knows her concerns aren't unfounded. Hasn't that thought tormented him as well? He has a lot of hours now to sit inside his own head and dwell over such things. Steve's bloody visage when the Soldier almost killed him is certainly one of his torments.

It makes him stop and press his mouth tight before speaking, "Steve is my friend.... I won't hurt him again."

Most of Tony's disregard for blood comes from the fact they he's been cutting, burning, and grazing his own body since he was three years old, so blood was just as much a part of his life as creating was. Though, if he had to experience what Dave's lived with, there's always the chance that his feelings on on blood would change.

"I'm just saying. That, filling out the form like that might make the process. Longer."

He goes sharply quiet for a second as he lets a wave of pain ripple through him, exhaling sharply once it passes.

"You're a sitting target here kid. I think it's better. If you, duck out."He licks his lips tentatively. "find yourself some cover, a weapon, something."

Tony doesn't like the idea of Dave being here when he stops breathing, not just because Dave didn't need to see this, hell kid's probably seen more death than he's ever needed to see by just being here. The main reason Tony doesn't want him there is because he doesn't want to be seen dying, he know's he can't totally avoid it with all the cameras, but it's bad enough feeling his life fade every time, but seeing the frustaited, hopeless looks in people's eyes as he fades?

He would give his fortune to never have that in his memory.

"You know what would make the process faster? Giving me a form when I damn well ask for one."

Dave is happy to be heated about this argument if it means pretending Tony isn't halfway to death's door right now. Hell, he's more than halfway. He's a light breeze away from falling into it entirely.

"You think this is my first time at the rodeo? Don't school me, pops." He gets the feeling Tony is trying to make him fuck off, he can even understand why he'd do that. He just can't bring himself to give in and leave him to die alone. Maybe it's because of his own feelings on the matter, but he's all but glued to the spot right now.

"I'm fine. You're fine. We just need to sit tight for a few more minutes." In saying that, he defiantly moves to lean against the wall, cross legged and facing Tony pointedly.

If Nick's expressions to the touch says anything, it's that he never liked getting physicals. At least this time there's apparently nothing wrong, not that he was expecting anything concrete. Hopefully, it really is just a bruise because he can't afford to just lie down and do nothing.

He takes in Sam's words, wanting to believe every word he's saying. A part of him does while the other part remembers what happened with Bill when they all believed he could lead them to the safety they were looking. And that didn't go so well at all.

"I didn't mean to sound ungrateful," Nick says as he turns to take one of the paths. Sam's not Bill, he can at least trust his own instincts on that one. Before he disappears down the hall, he looks back at Sam and nods. "Thanks again. You too."

Terezi is fully aware of the occupancy of the suit that she is currently leading to a side corridor where they won't be disturbed. That doesn't mean that she can't have a little fun with it.

"Mr. Appleberry, I must say that your silence is delightfully charming! Strong and silent, just my type! Would you entertain me with a waltz, perhaps?" She escorts the suit to turn and face her, placing a hand on it's waist and another on it's arm. What happens next is most decidedly not a waltz, but it is at least a dance of some kind.

"Commissioner Berrybottom has expressed his deepest appreciation at the level of commitment that you have employed towards keeping the peace between our parties. He looks forward to your continued cooperation in such dire times as these. We need a leader, Mr. Berrybottom. A role model, a guiding star. Someone to point the way to a brighter and more peaceful future for all of dragonkind."

"I don't know. Do you? You'll have to tell me." No situation is too serious for blind jokes. That is pretty much a rule, as far as Terezi is concerned. The recognition in his expression doesn't necessarily surprise her. She's one of the longer running Tributes. There's no way that he wouldn't have heard about her. The aliens are easy to pick out among the humans...

Her eyes narrow a little at the way he tries to subtly slip on the ring--not so much for seeing it, but considering the ways that the timelines shift to accommodate his intent. If she wants this to go smoothly for her, she'll have to aim to get that thing away from him.

"I wouldn't try any funny business. Just hand over your supplies, and I'll take my bit and leave. Sound fair?"

The name surprises Terezi. Nill. The human girl that had helped separate Karkat and Kurloz. Terezi almost goes to respond aloud before she's cut off by the warning. She's no stranger to psychic powers, but normally they don't have the ability to touch her. Maybe this is different somehow. The fact that Nill has psychic powers at all is a surprise in the first place.

Can you hear me, too? Where are you? she thinks to herself, hoping that somehow Nill can hear her thoughts in return. The thought-words are slow and measured, like she's concentrating very hard on the sound of the words in her head to make them clear as possible.

"Grantaire," he said, and executed a short bow. He was flattered that she found some merit in his physical appearance, though he also knew he was fooling himself if he thought he could maintain his present health. He knew his limitations, he knew how he would begin to feel when the hours passed and he had no full cup to help the nights pass more pleasantly.

Not that he had any great notion of time here.

"May I have yours before we part ways?"

He sees the spark and all instinctive, his arms go up in an x over his face. Like that would do any good if the Psiioniic thought to pick him up and slam him down hard upon the ground. But the scream; of course he'd stop. The flash is ceased immediate, and so fast it makes to ache enough to have cry out, he draws the voodoo back.

All the fear as he can. More. All the little cries of him getting out are taken up into his ownself. He breathes hard.

"Sorry! SORRY! I didn't mean..."

He takes a step back. It's probably too late. He's likely already shaken the Psiioniic all too far. Goddamn, what he wouldn't do to just do something right with him. His arms go down slow and he takes yet another step back.

He should just run, he thinks through the pain in his skull.

The Initiate fucking with his head? No, two thousand times no. His mind was his last refuge, voices of the dead aside. When the world took everything from him, his possessions, his choices, his freedom, he could take comfort in having thoughts such as Fuck that bulgehole in the face, and Down with the Capitol. Psii was not religious in the least, but he held certain things in high regard. Breaching his mind was anathema, desecration, violation.

He flat-out refused—and suddenly the fear seemed to draw back. So was Initiate, but Psii wasn't about to let him go only to be caught up in unnatural fear like this again.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere until you exthplain what the hell you're doing, chucklefuck!"

He wasn't as quick as he was normally, straining with the effort of directing his own power with this arena's nerfing. Throwing up a ham-fisted psionic wall was easy, but the finesse required to grab someone's ankle gently enough not to injure was something that took unexpected concentration from Alternia's most powerful psionic mage. Signless's words rang in his ears, imploring Psii not to treat this clown harshly. Psii wasn't sure if he could muster the dick move of harming his moirail.

He failed the first time, a paltry grasp at Initiate's leg that did little more than smear the blood from the scratch wound around. If only the clown would stop moving, he could angle it properly. He tried it a second time. He was unbalanced enough to make a second attempt even if Initiate was clued in to what he was attempting. Were Psii in his right mind, he would know that running was the smarter option. That had always been his plan of action if directly faced with a Subjugglator.

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Page 23 of 28

Arena 12 - The Spaceport

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i guess, yeah

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